


Advent calendar 2019

by Hotaru_Tomoe



Series: Bullets [18]
Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Advent Calendar, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Canon Compliant, Double Drabble, Drabble, Drinking Games, Established Relationship, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Mention of Animal Killing, Mild Language, Missing Scene, Stories will be mainly stand alone, Young!Valoris AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:53:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 29,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21636919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hotaru_Tomoe/pseuds/Hotaru_Tomoe
Summary: My take for the 2019 Advent Ficlet Challenge (prompts by the lovely MissDavis).Please note that rating and tags will change.
Relationships: Valery Legasov/Boris Shcherbina
Series: Bullets [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1372144
Comments: 112
Kudos: 123
Collections: 2019 Advent Ficlet Challenge





	1. 1. Snowflake

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a collection of very short stories, mostly unrelated to each other.  
> I hope to be able to post every day, but having not planned the writing as I usually do, I can only guarantee that I'll do my best.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene from episode 4.

Valery sits in a chair in the cold classroom.

He wanted to sit on the window sill, like he does when he's in the hotel, but Boris forbade it: someone could see them.

It’s snowing weakly and the flakes dance lightly in front of the glass.

He loved the snow when he was a child, he spent hours looking up at the white flakes falling from the sky, often trying to catch one on the tip of his tongue.

It tasted good, the snow.

It was beautiful.

Now, there in Pripyat no child can play that game anymore: the snow that falls from the sky is poison.

And many of the liquidators who, like him, are watching the snow, won't live long enough to see another winter.

They managed to dirty the purest thing that exists.

He will never look at the snow again with the same eyes, for the time he has left.

Valery envies people who believe in God, because at least they have someone to turn to and ask forgiveness for their sins.

He doesn't believe in God, so who will forgive him for all that death?

"Are you cold?" Boris asks.

Valery is very cold inside, but he shakes his head and lies: he's getting too good at it.

"Then why are you trembling?"

Well, not good enough to fool Boris.

He doesn't answer, but Boris doesn't get angry. He gets up, without saying a word, and puts his hand on Valery shoulder.

Boris isn’t a snowflake, he isn’t pure, and he isn’t even God, but he is the only person who understands how he feels, even though Valery never talks about it (or maybe exactly because of it), and maybe Boris can't make the poison that kills that land disappear, can’t offer him an absolution, but he’s always at his side, strong as a rock, and Valery is grateful for this.

"Come on, let's go: I heard Khomyuk's jeep, she’s here.”

Valery looks out the window: the snow has stopped falling.


	2. 2. Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One night in Pripyat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Russian tradition for the New Year it's to write a wish on a piece of paper, born it and then put the ash in a glass of champagne, but I assumed that they didn't have champagne in Pripyat.

The night is warm and serene.

Valery and Boris are returning to the hotel at the end of their usual night walk, one of their few moments of serenity, when they forget work and talk about something else.

To tell the truth, it’s usually Boris who does the talk, and Valery listens to him, even though a part of his mind is always focussed on the disaster.

Tonight he’s particularly moody, because they haven’t made any progress in finding a solution to clean the roof of the reactor building.

Crossing the lobby of the hotel, Valery heads for the elevator, but Boris grabs his elbow.

"Come on, let's have a drink."

Valery doesn't feel like it, but, by now, he has learned that it’s almost impossible to say no to Boris, especially when he wants to drink, then he follows him to the bar, sits on a stool and lets him fill his glass with vodka, but he remains silent and doesn’t drink.

Someone forgot a notepad and a pencil on the counter; Boris turns it over between his fingers, then smiles and leans towards Valery.

"Will you lend me your lighter?"

He surely doesn’t want to...

Valery looks at him: yes, Boris wants really to do what he thinks.

"Boris!"

Unperturbed, Boris extends his hand.

Valery rummages in his pockets and hands him the lighter.

"It's ridiculous!" He scoffs, "And it's not even the new year’s eve."

"Come on, it's just for fun," Boris laughs, nudging his shoulder, then takes the notepad and begins to write, covering it with his hand. "Don't peek," he recommends to Valery, who merely shrugs: there is nothing funny in their situation.

Actually he would be curious to know what Boris' wishes are, but, for some reason, what he's doing is irking him terribly.

When he finished writing, Boris rips the little sheet, sets it on fire, dropping the ash into his glass, and then lifts it.

"What you are doing is not healthy," Valery reproaches him.

"Is it worse than radiation?" He asks sarcastically, and then drinks the vodka in one gulp. "Come on, now it's your turn," he says, putting the pad in front of him.

"No, not a chance."

"Why? Do you want to tell me you don't even have a wish?"

"That's not the point!" Valery twists his lips in a bitter grimace, "it's just a stupid superstition: drinking burnt paper won't make any wish come true, it's useless!"

Boris, who until then had a cheerful face, shakes his head and slides off the stool.

"I give up," he only says, and walks away.

Valery takes off his glasses and takes his head in his hands: what did he do? Why the hell did he react like this?

He sits on the stool for a long time, alone. Even the KGB agents went to sleep, after all they will report the usual stuff to Charkov: _"Comrade Shcherbina tried to keep the spirits up, but Professor Legasov smothered him with his usual negativity."_

Because it’s like that: Boris always tries to cheer him up, make him smile, distract him, when he sees him gloomy or worried, and that doesn't mean that he's not taking his job seriously, he's just trying to help Valery as much as he can.

And it's not that Valery doesn't have a wish.

He has many, actually.

And that is why he jumped down his throat: he wishes not to die in five years, wishes that the evening walks with Boris didn’t resemble a sad countdown, wishes they never ended, wishes to open his eyes every morning and see Boris beside him, wishes to share a flat with him and to spend the rest of their years together.

They are both at the twilight of their lives, but it could have been a beautiful twilight.

Instead it will not be so, it will be a painful and unhappy twilight, and no wish can change this reality.

_"This doesn’t mean that Boris deserved to be treated like this, when he just wanted to help you."_

It's true, grotesquely so: he wish to be closer to Boris, but he ended up driving him away.

Valery puts his glasses back on, takes the pad and scribbles quickly: "I wish I'd been kinder to you."

It's the least I can do, although it probably won't help to appease Boris.

He takes the elevator and slips the note under the door of Boris' room, before entering his own.

He is about to turn the key when Boris opens the door, with Valery’s note in his hand.

He wasn’t asleep yet. Maybe was he waiting for him?

Valery quickly looks away.

"Valera," he says slowly, and when he sees that Valery doesn't react, he reaches him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

"It's all right, come on."

"No, it's not. I didn't want to be like this... but..."

Valery is about to crumble, so Boris gently pulls him to his room, shielding them from potential prying eyes.

As soon as the door is closed, Valery leans against Boris' chest.

"I wish... I wish..." he whispers, and slowly slides down.

Boris slides with him, nestling him in his arms.

"I know."


	3. 3. The more the merrier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometime before the accident - The plant staff

Leonid had always been very reserved, since he was a child, so he wasn't very popular. Moreover he was often sick, not very fit for sports, and in team games he was always chosen last.

But at school he was the best at science; there he found hisdimension, so he concentrated all his efforts on studying.

In time he had also become accustomed to his being forgettable, almost invisible, although when his mates didn’t ask anything about him or his family, when they forgot to invite him to a party, or if they said things like:  _ "Oh, are you here too, Leonid? I didn't notice you," _ it still hurt.

But since in the world there were worse things than not being noticed, he got used to it.

When he was called to work at the Chernobyl power plant and moved to Pripyat, he thought his life wouldn’t change much: lot of workers worked at the plant and he constantly changed shifts and tasks, during the internship, it was normal for no one to notice him.

Then he was assigned to the night shift on reactor 4.

The shift chief, comrade Dyatlov, was really scary, and Leonid did his best not to irk him, but the other members of the shift were nice, and at the end or before the shift they chatted and joked in the locker room, even if Leonid didn’t dare to call them "friends”, yet.

It was more than Leonid expected, and he was happy just like that, but one morning in late December, at the end of the shift, Kirschenbaum put a hand on his shoulder.

"Lenochka, we are organizing a party for the New year’s Eve. You are coming, aren't you?"

He said it naturally, as if Leonid’s presence at the party was to be taken for granted, and that left him speechless.

Noticing his silence, Viktor chimed in: "Do you already have other plans? Do you think you will go home to visit the family?"

"No, I have no plans."

"Then?"

"Are you sure? I hardly know anyone..."

“Of course we are sure!" Kirschenbaum slapped him on the shoulder, "the more, the merrier."

The party was held at Yuvchenko’s home, because having the largest family, he had the largest apartment. Leonid knocked on the door with a certain degree of trepidation, and it was Stolyarchuk who opened it.

"Come in Leonid, you were waiting for you. What is that face?" the colleague asked, because a residual awkwardness was still perceptible on his features, "Relax, we didn’t invite Dyatlov. It's a party, we want to have fun!"

And finally Leonid broke into a laughter.

"Lenochka, here you are!" Akimov went to meet him, putting a glass of Kvas in his hand.

"Oh, thanks!"

"He couldn't wait for you to arrive," Viktor shouted from the kitchen, "I told him you like fishing."

"Is that true?" Sasha asked, "because I love fishing too."

"Yes, it's my hobby since I was a child, my grandfather taught me."

"Would you like to go fishing together sometimes?"

"Please tell him yes," Stolyarchuk interjected, "and save me from having to get up at four in the morning."

Akimov hit him with a cushion on the sofa, "Boris, if it was for you the days would start after noon."

"What harm is there in wanting to sleep in the morning?"

Akimov returned to look at Leonid, "But if it is too early forget about it... sorry, it's that sometimes I get carried away when it comes to fishing."

"No, really, it's not a problem for me to get up early. And then I’m new here, I haven't been fishing yet and I miss it a lot."

Akimov's eyes lit up: "Perfect! I know a place, not far from here, where there are big trouts."

"Yes, but then you have to share what you catch," Viktor exclaimed.

"Trout is good, but if you catch lampreys, it's better," Yuvchenko chuckled.

"Can you believe it, Lenochka?" Akimov asked jokingly, putting his hands to his hips, "these parasites! We do all the work, and they eat."

Leonid laughed again, heartily: it was the first time he really felt part of a group and not just one among the others.

Kirschenbaum was right: the more, the merrier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I understood correctly, in the Soviet Union the State granted you an apartment, whose size varied according to the members of the family, so more people = bigger apartment.
> 
> Kvas is a low-alcohol fermented drink.


	4. 4. Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the trial - winter 1987

The darkness suddenly falls on Moscow, a blackout that scares his cat Irina, who hisses threateningly at the lamp.

"Easy, easy," he soothes her.

He gets up from the armchair, trying to ignore the pain inside his bones, more and more intense with the passing of time, and goes to the window: the whole neighbourhood is in the dark, the only lights are those of the sporadic cars that pass along the street; indeed the entire city seems to suffer from a power shortage.

He moves around, groping and searching through the drawers for a candle, which he lights with the lighter.

He let a few drops of wax fall on a saucer and secure the candle on it, watching the tenuous and flickering flame.

It brings him back with the memory to Pripyat.

_ For a while, there was a particularly keen KGB agent following them, and their constant going and coming back together from the base camp aroused some suspicion, Boris told him one day. It would have been better to give the impression that their relationship was polite but professional, and not so close. They had to pretend to be more detached. _

_ Valery understood, of course, if someone had discovered them, the consequences would have been unimaginable, but he felt the same the ground collapse under his feet, to the idea of no longer having the comfort of Boris' company. _

_ Boris' fingers, strong and reassuring, closed around his hand. _

_ "I'm not leaving you, Valera, I could never do that. The agent will leave soon, none of them stay too long, but in the meantime I have a plan." _

_ They started having different working schedule, and in the evening it was only Valery who took a short walk around the hotel, and when it was safe to see each other, Boris lit a candle and placed it on the window sill. _

_ Boris had been careful to let everyone know, in a loud voice, that it was stupid to waste power, now that the plant was working with one less reactor, and that if he had some work to finish, he could easily do it by candlelight, like their fathers. _

_ But that little flame meant something else to the two of them: it was the lighthouse that led Valery to a safe harbor, where to find peace and comfort in Boris' arms. _

_ That KGB agent left after a few weeks, replaced by a less attentive colleague, and so Valery and Boris were able to resume their usual routine, but Boris kept the habit of lighting a candle in the evening. _

_ Maybe he wanted to be romantic, maybe he meant that he'd always be there for him, Valery never asked, out of modesty and not to embarrass him, but he just loved the lit candle. _

He misses that small, silly gesture, almost as much as he misses Boris, now that he can only see him in a photo on the newspapers and on tv, now that he no longer has the hope of seeing him again.

He looks out the window again.

An idea flashes in his mind.

He sighs, shakes his head: it doesn't make sense, it's scientifically impossible, it will only make him more melancholy.

Yet, a few minutes later he is in the dark corridor.

Guided only by the light of his candle, he climbs the stairs to the roof.

The power really went out across the city, which now appears to be enveloped in a endless darkness.

The night is bitter cold, and his shoes creak on the layer of frost that covers the tar of the roof. He must be extremely careful in locating where the edge of the building is, or he risks to fall down accidentally, and it’s not what he wants, not yet, not tonight.

Tonight he just wants to make a symbolic gesture, be it silly, but he needs it.

He reaches the edge of the building in the direction of where Boris' house should be, as the crow flies.

"I'm thinking of you, Boris, this light is for you."

_ "You're just a stupid old fool." _

This Boris tells himself as he leaves his apartment with a candle in his hand.

Fortunately, given the blackout, his neighbours decided to call it a night, and he didn't meet anyone in the corridor or on the stairs.

Even Valery will be already asleep, he won't be so crazy as to stand on the roof of his house, and anyway it’s impossible to see his candle, he lives far away and the light is too weak, but he continues to stubbornly climb the steps leading to the roof: he will place the candle on the edge of the roof, in the direction of Valery's house, even if it’s only a symbolic gesture.

_ "This is not logical, it's not like you, Boris. Look at you, you're already out of breath, and do you think it's good for your health to stay in the cold and stare at a candle? You could die on the roof of your house, is that what you want?" _

But he doesn't care what his mind is telling him, he doesn't care if it's not like him, he's dying every day, a part of him already died after the trial, he can afford to act like a fool.

Or a dreamer.

He reaches the edge of the roof and rests the candle in the direction of Valery's house.

"This is for you, Valera," he says in a low voice, "I miss you. I really miss you."

He sighs heavily, his hands buried in his trouser pockets and looks at the flame that sways every time it’s struck by a light breeze, but doesn’t go out. On the contrary, it seems to shine stronger.

Then he looks up in the direction of Valery's house, and falls to his knees.

Far, far away, almost invisible, there is a tiny yellow light that palpitates in the pitch black night, stronger than darkness, stronger than the laws of physics, stronger than the impossible.

It can't be, but it’s really the only other light that can be seen in the whole city, and who, who but his Valera, would be so crazy as to light a candle on a roof?

Inside of him he knows, it's Valera, and this time the critical and pessimistic voice in his mind is silent.

In those months he didn't try to contact Valery, for his own safety, because he knows that the eyes of the KGB will always watch them.

This small, precious, fragile moment is all they can have, but that's okay, that's okay.

“I’m here, my love.”

Valery covers his mouth with one hand to smother the sobs.

Maybe he's going crazy, maybe he's having a hallucination, because it shouldn't be possible, but there is the light of a candle that shines far away, where Boris' house is, and his heart knows it's him, he can be only Boris.

"Thank you..." he whispers low.

It doesn't matter that Boris can't hear him, Valery knows he is there, standing next to a candle and watching toward him.

Those months without any contact with him were difficult, almost impossible, and Valery needed to know that Boris hasn’t forgotten him, that between them nothing has changed, in order to survive... a little longer.

They stand all night long, regardless of the cold that bites the bones, watching that distant flame that cries out in the dark:  _ "I am here for you, I haven’t forgotten you, I haven’t left you," _ until the dawn rises in the east and its pink glow slowly overpowers their candles.


	5. 5. Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post canon

Every hurricane starts with a light, almost imperceptible breeze that no one notices.

It’s barely able to move the dried leaves or some paper along the sidewalk, and make the flowers and blades of grass sway.

After a while, it begins to lift plastic bags and sheets of newspaper, which wrap around the legs of annoyed passers-by, to finish their run a little further on, but still no one pays attention to it.

Then come the sudden gusts, which make the hats fly and people grabs their coats, surprised. 

It’s only at this point that some people raise their eyes, looking for the signs of an impending storm, but the sky is still clear, so they think the wind will cease without any consequence.

However they’re wrong, the wind continues to blow, raises the tablecloths laid on the outdoor tables of the café, turns the empty glasses upside down, forces the waiters to bring them back inside and close the umbrellas, while dark clouds pile up on the horizon and approach to the city, fast and increasingly threatening with every passing second.

People are puzzled by then: when did it happen? Why hasn't anyone noticed the signs? And now, how to deal with the impending hurricane?

Simply, it’s not possible, no embankment or barrier will stop it, the wind will bypass every obstacle and reach its goal.

And here it is, the hurricane: the wind blows, blows relentlessly, it gets stronger, it breaks branches, knocks down young trees as the old ones, damages the power lines, carries debris that breaks the windows, uncovers the roofs.

Nothing can be done to stem the consequences, men can only wait for the destructive fury of the wind to settle by itself, count the damage and rebuild, better than before.

The tapes recorded by Valery had the same disruptive effect as a hurricane.

First there were only the tapes recorded by him, secretly found by trusted hands, but still weak and helpless.

They seemed to have no hope, but over time those tapes have multiplied, from recorders to recorders, they have spread, passed from one scientist to another.

With them the volume of his words has increased, has become strong, stronger than the lies and the men who wanted to keep the truth hidden and silence Valery forever.

In the end, they couldn't stop him.

His words hit, destroyed and dismantled a system that relied on silences and omissions, and reached their goal: they were heard, they bent the resistance of the State, forcing it to do something about the reactors.

"It took me some time to come to terms with what you did, but you won, Valera. The reactors have been improved," Boris whispers, as he puts fresh flowers on his gravestone, "I just wish you were here to see it. You deserved it."

A light breeze lifts his scarf, caressing his face, and seems to whisper in his ear:  _ "No Borja, we have won." _


	6. 6. Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At some point during the months spent in Pripyat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ἄγγελος, pron. àn-ge-los (hard G).  
> Yes, in ancient Greek it means messenger.

"You said WHAT?" Ulana asks, as she slams the glass of vodka onto the counter and gives Valery an incredulous look.

Shcherbina and Legasov have just returned from a meeting in Moscow, and Ulana met with the scientist in the hotel bar to update him on the latest calculations, then she asked him to tell her how the meeting went, and found out that Valery said a lots of inappropriate things.

"Ulana, don't shout, they listen to us..." Valery murmurs, looking around anxiously.

"Maybe you should have thought of that before speaking to General Secretary Gorbachev like that, don't you think?"

Valery is silent as he finishes his vodka: Ulana has a point.

"I should have known from the first meeting that you are a reckless one," Ulana lowers the pitch of her voice to do an impression of him, "Sixty, yes."

"Well, in Ukraine and Belarus there are sixty million people, not fifty. It makes a big difference!" Valery blurts.

Ulana shakes her head: Legasov is incorrigible. She greatly admires his dedication to the truth, but he has no survival instinct or filters: he doesn’t care who he has in front of him, he says everything that pops into his head.

"Don't be offended, Valery, but it's a miracle that you're still here and not in a hard labor camp."

Valery shifts on the stool, embarrassed.

"Yes, well, Boris put in a good word. More than one, really, and on more than one occasion."

Valery never regrets saying what he thinks, but when he sees Boris struggling to mend the mess he made, or to keep him from disappearing somewhere without a trace, he certainly feels guilty.

Boris already has an impressive workload, he shouldn't worry about saving his neck, too.

"Comrade Shcherbina is really an angel for you."

"No, not at all," Valery blurts.

"How?" Ulana is surprised by his reaction: she thought that Valery appreciated Boris Shcherbina and what he is doing for him.

"Boris is not an angel. People call the benefactors angels just because they ignore the true meaning of this word. Do you know it?"

His colleague shakes her head.

"It’s not a term created by Christianity, as many think. Religion has only appropriated it, distorting its original meaning, but the term angel derives from the ancient Greek, ἄγγελος, and means messenger, nothing more. In Greek mythology, Hermes was the messenger of the gods; he communicated to mankind their decisions, good or evil as they were, accompanied the travelers on their journeys, and the souls on the afterlife. An angel does nothing more than this: he doesn’t save or protect anyone. So no, Boris is not an angel."

Ulana fills their glasses with vodka again, quite surprised by the turn of the conversation.

Valery lights up a cigarette before he starts talking again: "If anything, I'm an angel."

"You?"

"Yes, I: I announce to the Kremlin the true extent of the disaster, I announce to the miners that they must dig a tunnel under the reactor, I announce that on that roof we must send men. This I do,” he hisses angrily, baring his teeth in a sneer.

Ulana would like to argue that Valery is unfair to himself, that he does much more than this, but she knows it would sound like an empty  _ "cheer up" _ , it wouldn't help him at all, and the scientist doesn't need words without meaning.

"What is Shcherbina, then?" She asks instead.

Valery puts his hands on the counter and a slight smile makes its way to his lips.

"Boris may seem terrifying at first sight, especially when he threatens to throw you off a helicopter, but he knows how to listen to reason, and he isn’t afraid to retrace his steps and do the right thing. Like when he decided to evacuate the city against Ilyin's opinion.

He is a man who knows how to put formalities aside and speak frankly to people's hearts. He cares for them, cares for anyone working here. Did you know that he calls the three divers every day to find out how they are doing?"

Ulana shakes his head.

"I didn't even know it, until I overheard him talking on the phone. Boris doesn’t brag about his kindness, doesn’t use it as a propaganda weapon, like any other politician would. He works every day, makes sure that the liquidation works at its best, as far as possible, solves every problem, and also finds time to take care of the others, especially me. He..." Valery's smile becomes wider, "he always understands when I'm down or something worries me, listens to my outbursts, he’s my guide in a world that doesn't belong to me, is the shield that protects me from my own naivety. Boris is the most important person," he concludes, then turns to look at Ulana, and when the woman arches an eyebrow in an allusive way, he hastens to add, "Here! He is the most important person here for the liquidation."

Ulana laughs, slipping off the stool.

"I don't know if you are an angel, Valery, but you’re smitten for sure."

A furious blush creeps upon the scientist's cheeks.

"I... no... don’t..." he stammers, but he knows that his words have betrayed him, in fact Ulana shakes her head, "It’s useless to try to deny it, after you waxed lyrics on him. You are smitten."

The next day Ulana leaves for Moscow.

Boris is discussing some details with Pikalov, while Valery raises a hand to greet her; before closing the door of the car, Ulana mouths  _ "infatuated" _ and Valery stumbles over his own feet. Only the steady hand of Boris, who whirls around and grabs his elbow, prevents him from falling to the ground.

"Valerka! I wonder how you can cross a street in Moscow without getting hit by a car every day."

"Sorry..." he mumbles.

"You have to be careful or you'll end up hurting yourself," he chides, not without sweetness.

"Alright."

Valery was right: Boris isn’t simply an ἄγγελος.

And he, like Ulana said, is really smitten.


	7. 7. Ashes and soot

The professors, those who had studied and had a PhD, knew how to explain the microscopic differences between dust, ashes, and soot, but for Andrei Glukhov it was all the same shit that had dominated his life since childhood.

Living near the mine, dust was everywhere: in the streets, in the meadows, on the houses and even inside them. As much as his mother busied herself with sweeping, dusting and washing, the dust never went away completely.

The cars, the window panes, the clothes, and even the snow that fell from the sky had a greyish tinge.

There was no way to contain it: the dust tormented everyone's life, burned the eyes, caused children to suffer from asthma. Either one was strong enough to resist it, or they succumbed.

Andrei was among those who resisted, and ended up working in the mine, because there was really no other choice. 

There, more than anywhere else, ashes and soot dominated everything, and Andrei decided that if he couldn’t wipe them out of his life, then he would learn their secrets and dominate them.

He earned his living in the dust, and taught other men to do the same, taught them how not to succumb, how to survive that harsh and tiring life.

He thought he could do the same with Chernobyl dust: to resist, to win, to go home and resume his usual life; despite the talk of the bespectacled scientist and that general with the jacket full of medals, the dust there was no different from that of Tula.

But he was wrong. Something invisible and silent nestled in the ashes of that cursed place, something that penetrated not only the lungs but also the bones and the flesh, something much more ferocious than the dust of a coal mine.

He and his team stayed there a month, and really it was nothing, compared to twenty years spent extracting coal from the bowels of the earth, but enough to get the better of many of them.

Andrei saw his friends fall ill one after the other, saw himself getting sick, and despite this none of the doctors who visited them had the balls to say that it was because of Chernobyl.

If nothing else the scientist had been honest with him.

Glukhov had no problem telling it, to curse those who exploited them to build that tunnel and then abandoned them to their fate, but the authorities didn't care. And why should they have? Andrei’s audience were only men like him who would soon die.

And Andrei decided that his end would be consistent with his life, lived in the dust.

"I want to be cremated," he said to his wife one day.

The woman glared at him: even in an atheist state, religion resisted stubbornly, and the cremation was at odds with his wife's religion.

"It’s not..." she tried to object, but Glukhov silenced her abruptly: "This is my will and you will respect it!"

He couldn't beat ash and soot, so he decided he would join them.

That way, they wouldn't have the last word on him.


	8. 8. Warm bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the trip to Vienna.

The Russian delegation arrived at the hotel in Vienna, and they all began to listen to the interpreter as he translated the words of the concierge.

All except Valery, whose only concern was the talk he was about to give at the conference. On the flight he was revising the last details, when Boris had practically forced him to put his sheets away and tie his belt for the landing, so Valery couldn't wait to complete the check-in and close himself in his room to start again working on his talk: was it sufficiently exhaustive, despite having to respect the agreement with the KGB? Had he anticipated every possible question that journalists and colleagues could have asked him? And what if someone had guessed the truth anyway?

It was an eventuality that Valery feared on one hand, but on the other he almost hoped it to happen, in order to take that weight off his conscience.

He was so focused on what awaited him at the IAEA meeting that he didn't notice that the other members of the delegation had taken the keys to their rooms and left, until Boris touched his shoulder.

"Valery, have you heard?" He asked, handing him the key to his room.

Valery answered with an annoyed grunt, as if to say,  _ not now _ .

He was grateful to Boris for the support, friendship and love he was giving him at the worst and most difficult time of his life, but in his mind now there was only room for his talk at the conference (he hadn't thought of anything else for days, to tell the truth) and hoped that Boris understood why he was so tense and taciturn.

Probably yes, because he let him go upstairs without yelling at him for his brusque manners (any other head of the delegation would have made him shoot for real), and made a mental note to apologize to Boris at the first opportunity.

He dragged his suitcase wearily down the corridor to his room, his mind continuing to brood over the fundamental passages of his report, then he threw the suitcase on the bed and opened it. He knew he had to pull out the suit and hang it, so it wouldn’t be wrinkled, but the thought alone irritated him: he didn't have time for those stupid things, with all the thoughts that occupied in his mind.

He needed to smoke: it would help him drive away the tension and make order in his head.

He took a cigarette from the packet, lit it, inhaled a long drag of smoke, exhaled it slowly, closing his eyes, and for a moment it was all perfect.

Then a jet of icy water from the ceiling hit Valery in full.

Surprised, he staggered backward, shielding his eyes with one hand: he had inadvertently triggered the fire suppression system, and his room was rapidly turning into a swimming pool.

He climbed on a chair, trying to reach the sprinkler, but it was too low, so he had to drag a table to reach and deactivate it, but the damage was done. The water had soaked everything: the thick carpet, the bed up to the mattress and all his clothes in the open suitcase; he himself was soaked like a chick just out of the shell. Only his documents were safe, because Boris, before leaving for Vienna, had given him a plastic folder to store it, since Valery went around with unstapled sheets.

He sat on the table, taking his head in his hands: what a mess! It shouldn’t had happened right now, he didn't have the mental energy to handle it! What should he do now?

That was how Boris found him, when he opened the door, after knocking three times in vain.

"What…?"

"Don't say anything, I beg you," Valery hissed.

"You didn't hear a word of what the interpreter said, did you? He warned that the rooms were equipped with a fire suppression system."

"Excuse me if I have anything else to think about! It’s me the one who have to talk at the conference, not you..." Valery bit his lip: Jumping at Boris’ throat was the last thing he wanted to do, and yet…

"I’m sorry, I'm so sorry," he whispered and took his face in his hands again: how could Boris stand him, with that shitty attitude he had?

Boris gently took him by an elbow, making him get off the table.

"It's okay, it's just the tension that speaks," he reassured him, "Come on, let's go to my room: it's quite clear that you can't stay here."

He rummaged through Valery's suitcase, handed him the toiletry bag and his documents, then chose two suits and left, going to knock on the door of another member of the delegation.

"There was a malfunction of the fire extinguishing system in the room of Comrade Legasov: bring his suits to the laundry, they must be clean and ready by tomorrow morning."

The poor man tried to object that he had never set foot in Vienna and had no idea where to find a laundry, but Boris barked at him about using a map and that even a monkey could do it.

"Comrade Legasov is extremely annoyed by the accident, as I am for that matter, so we don't want to be disturbed until tomorrow, hoping that nothing else will happen in this dump!"

He went back to his room, slamming the door to complete his act, and turned to look at Valery, who was standing near the heater with a miserable face, still dressed and dripping.

"Undress, I'll make you a warm bath."

Valery mechanically unbuttoned his shirt and only then realized that he was trembling and gritting his teeth: the sprayer's water was cold, and Boris' idea of a hot bath suddenly was very tempting.

His speech could wait and, after all, a last-minute revision wouldn’t have changed nearly two months of work on it.

He put his clothes on the radiator to dry them, and went into the bathroom, which had already been filled with steam.

He saw that Boris had also undressed, and raised an eyebrow: "I thought the warm bath was for me."

"It's my room, you'll have to pay a fee," he retorted, without hiding the teasing note in his voice.

Valery plunged into the water and leaned forward to make room for Boris, who sat behind him, circling his waist with his arms to make Valery lean against his chest. Valery's shoulder muscles were terribly tense, and Boris rubbed his thumbs in slow circular movements until he felt them relax completely.

The hot water was a blessing: it quickly chased away the cold and made Valery forget his obsessive thoughts.

Well, the water and also Boris who was tickling his neck and ear with delicate kisses.

"You know, I had thought of a less drastic solution to let you sleep in my room: it was enough to sabotage your radiator," the politician chuckled, going down to kiss his freckled shoulder.

"I didn't do it on purpose, I was just..."

"... lost in here, I know," Boris said, rubbing his scalp, "Better now?"

Valery looked up at the small bathroom window: it had begun to snow heavily, the noises were muffled, no one would disturb them, and he was in Boris' strong arms.

"Yes, 's nice," Valery muttered, feeling almost sleepy, but then Boris slipped a hand towards his crotch.

"Don't fall asleep, Valera: I have other plans for the evening."

"As long as the plans stay in this bathtub, I'm with you," Valery replies, raising his face to kiss him.


	9. 9. Festive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate first meeting

Boris looked at the clock and sighed in annoyance: he had been there for twenty minutes and the man he was to meet was nowhere to be seen… outrageous!

A secretary came to meet him with a diplomatic smile: "Professor Legasov is in the lab now, but he will come right now. Meanwhile, would you like tea, Deputy Minister Shcherbina?" she asked, but Shcherbina shook his head.

He had took this appointment with the deputy director of the Institute over a week ago: the chemist shouldn’t have been in the laboratory, but in his office, waiting for him.

Boris had to give a commendation to the Kurchatov Institute and, because the director was already on vacation with the family, the task of taking it was up to the first director, who apparently had better things to do.

After a while, the secretary ringed Legasov again, but the professor didn't answer. The woman's smile became more and more nervous as she continued to look at the tall Ukrainian.

"Er, do you know what we do? I'm going to call him."

"It would be nice," Boris grumbled. That was his last task for the day, later he was expected to a dinner at his department, and then he would have enjoyed a few days off, even though he had no special plans.

Meanwhile, Boris went to look around in Legasov's office. The man had left the door open and Boris grumbled again in disapproval: luckily the scientist wasn’t working on anything that was classified.

A quick glance into the room was enough to get an idea of Legasov: a wilted plant had long been sitting sadly on the window sill, the ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts, the crumpled sheets all around the rubbish bin told him of a terrible aim, documents and textbooks were placed everywhere, there wasn’t a single framed photo.

Everything in that office shouted that the man was a loner and a workaholic. Not much different from him, mess and dirt aside, of course. Boris would never let a pile of dust accumulate on a cabinet, he thought disapprovingly, passing a finger over it.

"Professor Legasov will be here in minutes," the secretary said, coming back, out of breath, "I apologize again for the waiting, Deputy Minister."

It was the last day before the winter holidays and the Institute was already half-empty at that hour of the afternoon; even the woman was anxious to leave, probably the family was waiting for her at home.

Boris walked back to the corridor, but after a quarter of an hour he raised his lips in a sarcastic smirk: "Instead I bet that the professor will not leave the lab."

"Sometimes he gets a little distracted..." the woman tried to justify him, "he doesn't do it with malice, he's just like that. I'm going to call him again."

"No, go home: just tell me where the lab is."

"Eighth floor, corridor to the right. But are you really sure I can go?"

"You’re well beyond your working hours, am I right?"

"A little..."

"Go, then. And happy holidays."

"Thanks. To you too."

Boris took the elevator, curious to meet this masterpiece of man that made a deputy minister wait almost an hour, but without malice. He was certain that, after his lecture, Legasov would start keeping track of his appointments.

However, whatever insult Boris had on the tip of his tongue, died when he opened the glass doors of the laboratory, and his eyes met a man leaning on a table in a very bizarre, not comfortable way, showing a remarkable butt, which delightfully filled his trousers. A nape of reddish hair that could be seen between his shoulders increased Boris' interest, but he berated himself harshly for the dangerous drift of his thoughts.

He cleared his throat to make his presence known, but the professor didn’t turn around, merely gesturing with his hand towards a table full of equipment.

"What is the spectrophotometer reading?"

"I would gladly tell you, if you knew what a spectrophotometer is."

Legasov turned around, ready to yell that he had no time for stupid jokes, but he gaped in front of the stranger.

He wasn’t his assistant, and Legasov was absolutely certain that he didn’t work in the laboratory: he would have remembered a man like that, with those shoulders, that broad chest, and that deep voice.

"Where is Taavi?" He managed to articulate, after having looked at him for an inappropriately long time.

"Whoever he is, I believe he went home, like everyone else."

"In the middle of working hours? I'll give that Estonian a piece of my mind, when he comes back."

"Your working hours are over the top even by Soviet standards," Boris observed.

"But it’s just... oh..." Valery looked at his watch and frowned, "How can it be that late already?"

Boris chuckled; now he began to understand the secretary's words: there was no malice or arrogance in Legasov, simply the man lived in a world of his own.

"Who would you be anyway?"

"Deputy Minister Shcherbina. You told your secretary that you would meet me in five minutes. Almost an hour ago."

Valery tormented his hands, lowering his eyes: not only was he mortified for making him wait so long, he was also terrified of having infuriated a party man.

"Comrade, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I've lost track of time. I know it's not an excuse, but I..."

"It's all right," Boris wasn’t mad at all, even though he should have been; but it seemed he had a soft spot for that chubby, freckled scientist and his butt.

Anyway, despite his reassurances, he saw that Legasov was still very nervous and scared, so he tried a more friendly approach.

"Valery, right? I left the commendation in your office: just remember to hang it and put it on display as soon as possible and let’s call it a deal. Now I'll leave you, since you're so busy."

Yes, it was really better to get out of there, before his thoughts about the scientist took an even more dangerous drift, but Valery wasn’t of the same opinion.

"No, at least let me escort you to the exit. It's the least I can do, um..."

"Boris."

"Boris," Valery smiled as he repeated his name. He was lucky that the party had sent such an understanding person.

And handsome, too.

Valery closed his eyes, cursing internally: shit, he was really an aspiring suicide! He shouldn’t let his mind run free, especially in front of a party man, even though he embodied a good chunk of Valery's fantasies.

"Are you really going back to work right away?" Boris asked as he called the elevator, "doesn't your family wait for you for the holidays?"

"If the concept of family includes a cat that will be very pissed by the delay of her dinner, then yes,” he said, entering the elevator with him, then added, “I'm afraid I'm not very festive."

"Indeed."

"And what about you?" He asked after a brief pause: if Boris wants to have a conversation, he was happy to please him.

"I don't even have a cat. It seems that being festive it’s not like us."

Maybe not festive, but Valery was crazy enough to think to invite him to dinner, like _"I'm alone, you're alone, maybe we could..."_

He opened his mouth to speak, but the elevator stopped its run so abruptly that he crashed on Boris’ chest.

"Are you okay?" Boris asked, helping him to his feet.

 _"I was better a moment ago,"_ Valery thought, as he nodded. Shcherbina's chest was muscular just as it looked.

Boris pressed the elevator alarm button, but Valery looked at him with an apologetic smile.

"I'm afraid there is no one left in the building, and the night watchman comes later."

"How much later?"

"It depends: sometimes he falls asleep before coming here."

The politician rolled his eyes: incredible!

"Sorry..." Valery mumbled.

"It's not your fault."

"Well, if I had been on time for our appointment, you wouldn't be stuck here. Did you have something to do?"

"A dinner with my colleagues, but it's too late now. However, nothing serious," Boris shrugged, put his arms over his head and laced his fingers behind his nape, stretching, and Valery's fantasies reared exponentially.

"So what do we want to do?" Boris asked.

"Wha...? Uh... what do you mean?" The scientist stammered, as his mind was waving a _“everything you want, honey”_ banner, not really helping his sanity.

"To pass the time, as the wait will be long."

Boris slipped to the floor and Valery mimicked him, pulling his knees to his chest: it was a good position to hide any incriminating reactions from his body, in case it decided to join the anarchic revolt of his brain.

"I don’t know."

"I would say strip poker is to be discarded, since none of us have a deck of cards," Boris joked, and a delicious blush spread over the scientist's cheeks. Oh heck! Valery seemed unwittingly intent on hitting all Boris’ weak spots.

Valery clicked his tongue: "No, no cards," he said, and was there perhaps a tinge of regret in his voice?

Boris decided to explore cautiously in that direction: if things went wrong, he could always backpedal, saying he was joking and Valery had misunderstood. "We have also to cross out truth or dare, because, closed in the elevator, there aren’t many dares to choose, if not undressing."

"Um... yes. It would end too quickly if we undressed... eer, I mean, the game, and then we wouldn't have anything else to do." Valery didn't mean to say that he would instantly lose it in his trousers at the sight of Boris naked. Well, he meant exactly that, but he hoped that Boris didn't understand.

Boris took a metal flask from the inside pocket of his coat and placed it on the floor.

Somehow Valery wasn't surprised.

"We can play ‘Never have I ever’."

Valery frowned, "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with this game."

Not only Valery wasn’t festive, he wasn’t very sociable, if he had never played this game with his university mates. It was a classic!

"It's pretty simple," Boris explained, "I say something that I never did, but if you did, you have to drink, otherwise not. And then you do the same. For example: never have I ever been blocked in an elevator with a party man. It happened to you, so you have to drink."

It seemed a little silly game to Valery, but they would have been locked in there for quite a while, and honestly he didn't mind finding out something about Boris. And reveal something about himself, to the extent possible.

"Never have I ever been blocked in a elevator with a chemist," he replied, and Boris chuckled, taking a sip of vodka. "Good, you understand the spirit of the game. Let's see..." he drummed his fingers on the flask, "Never have I ever left my workplace on time."

"Neither do I," sighed Valery, shrugging, and this time he didn't drink. "Never have I ever been to the Kremlin."

"Ohi, are you trying to get me drunk?" Boris laughed again and drank, then smacked his lips: "Never have I ever said anything inappropriate in an inappropriate place."

"I should empty the flask," Valery muttered, drinking.

"I supposed," Boris said, but there was no animosity or reproach in his voice.

They went on for a while: Boris discovered that Valery had tonsils surgery, had got pneumonia, never left the Soviet Union, hadn’t done military service, and had won a poetry competition when he was young.

Boris instead had an appendectomy, had been a construction worker and also a carpenter, had been over the Iron Curtain several times, and when he was a child his family had three dogs.

As the flask emptied, their questions became more audacious: Valery discovered that once Boris had two girlfriends at the same time ( _extremely tiring_ ), and Boris that Valery one night had walked starkers along the corridors of the university.

"I was drunk and lost a bet," the scientist justified himself, in front of Boris's incredulous gaze.

Actually, Boris wasn't incredulous, he was just imagining Valery's walking bare butt far too easily.

"It must have been a show," he whispered hoarsely, and Valery held his breath, but didn't look away.

"If I get drunk again, I might as well repeat the performance," he said cautiously.

Boris decided instead to throw caution away.

"Never have I ever kissed a man," he said, and his words seemed to echo in the small elevator.

Valery's hand didn't shake as he took the flask from Boris and brought it to his lips, emptying it. His gaze remained clear, assertive, and in the end it was he who broke the silence: "Have you ever wanted to kiss a man?"

That wasn’t how the game worked, but this had ceased to be a game, right?

Boris put his hand on Valery's hand holding the flask, and the scientist whispered, "There is no more vodka."

"Yes, there is," Boris retorted and licked it off Valery’s lips, before placing a hand behind his neck and deepening the kiss.

"Hey! Is there anyone in there? The elevator alarm in the lodge is ringing." Three blows on the outer door of the elevator startled them, and they hurried away from each other.

The night watchman had finally arrived, though Boris wished he was a little more late.

"Yes, Ivan, I'm Legasov. I'm here with... uhm... a guest..." Valery screamed.

"Oh, don’t worry! I'll release you immediately, Professor!"

The watchman hastily unlocked the elevator, freeing the two men, and they could then leave the Institute.

Valery kept glancing nervously at Boris, because he was very good at uttering reckless declarations, but not at normal conversations.

Boris cames to his rescue, "My place or your place? I'd say yours, I don't want to upset your cat any more."

"Ah... okay. This way."

Was it that simple?

"Maybe we can make these holidays more festive for both of us, right?" Boris said, nudging him with his shoulder.

“I hope so.”


	10. 10. Once a year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-canon. In the mid-2000s.

"Do you have everything?"

"Yes, grandpa."

"Don't _‘yes grandpa’_ to me, young man: the last time you forgot your gloves."

"Well, this time I have everything."

"Here we are. Wait."

"What now?"

"You didn't look in the mirror before getting off the car. Nowadays in this city they all drive like madmen, you must have a hundred eyes and be always careful."

"I will be late!"

"You know the rules."

The boy looks in the mirror, gets off and retrieves his heavy bag and hockey sticks.

"Thanks for the ride, grandpa."

"After the training your brother will come to get you. Have a good time."

Retired general Tarakanov watches his nephew run towards the hockey stadium, already wearing his uniform, the earphones perennially on his ears, cheerful and vital as only a fifteen-year-old boy can be, then he took the lane again, careful of the other drivers, because, really, a life of driving jeeps and tanks is not enough when you have to drive in Moscow's afternoon traffic, especially in the middle of winter.

He can’t say exactly when it happened, but suddenly everyone living in the city seems to be in a great hurry, scrambling to run from one place to another, and forgetting important things along the way.

He’s not immune to that, either.

When he retired he was almost afraid that he wouldn’t have anything to do in his life, but it hadn't happened: with a large family and grandchildren who kept coming, he hadn't relaxed, as the children always kept him on his toes.

Then he decided to renew the old family home: initially he thought of doing only a few minor repairs, but the more he looked at it, the more it seemed there were big works to be done, and in the end he launched himself into a total renovation project, which he supervised in person.

Moreover, despite being retired, he had never completely detached himself from the military life: his colleagues went to him for advice, he participated in meetings and debates, and gave interviews on television.

His life has been full when he worked, and it's even fuller now that he doesn't work anymore.

There are only a few mornings when he can get up calmly and read the newspaper without having something to do.

But there is a day, one day a year in which the general doesn’t want to deal with any commitments. A winter day, under the holidays, when people seem to suddenly remember the most important things, like to call that person who they haven’t heard for a long time, or to remember someone who is no longer there.

He parks the car, gets in the house, disconnects the phone, takes a shoe box that he keeps in a corner of the bookcase, sits down in an armchair and opens it.

There he keeps his memories of Chernobyl: photographs, letters, newspaper clippings.

Once a year, only once a year he allows himself to remember that tragedy.

It hasn't always been this way: the first few years after the liquidation, he was obsessed with it, with the memory of what he had done, seen and lived. It haunted him relentlessly, to the point he saw the faces of the liquidators sent to the roof every time he closed his eyes, and he still felt their handshake.

Chernobyl had got into him, and Tarakanov knew it would stay there forever.

It was his family that saved him, and made him understand that he had to learn to let go what had happened, otherwise he would have been saved from radiation, but not from remorse, and Chernobyl would have taken his whole life, including all the beautiful things he still had.

So he reached a compromise: his life and his family take precedence, but once a year he remembers those who are no longer there, those who gave his life to contain the disaster and save the continent.

Now he is the only one left, the others died one by one.

First, Legasov, the apparently shy and anxious professor who turned out to be the bravest soul, a true hero in the end. Neither the KGB nor the entire Soviet Union could to shut his mouth. He shouted the truth to everyone, and he was heard.

Then Shcherbina, stubborn and indefatigable. He may have had the worst fate, because his heart would have led him to openly take sides with Legasov, but his mind had held him back. The liquidation continued long after the trial, and to bring it forward, to finish the work started by Legasov, Shcherbina had no choice but to shut up. But Tarakanov knows that this consumed him.

Ulana Khomyuk also died a few years later, but first she managed to distribute Legasov's tapes and get them to those who needed to know. He and Ulana meet each other often at that time, because the party's leaders, furious, continuously ordered Tarakanov to search her apartment and workplace looking for incriminating evidence. And each time Tarakanov spent hours in the woman's apartment, silently pointing out where the microphones were hidden and never looking for any secret hiding place where the tapes could be hidden, while the woman looked at him with gratitude. In the end Tarakanov always wrote in his reports that the scientist was clean and the search had been in vain. He owed it to Legasov..

A few years ago also Pikalov died. Chernobyl had left a deep mark on his health, making him almost blind. To tell the truth, it was a miracle that he had lived so long, after being so close to the open reactor. And Vladimir never complained about his fate. _"It happened to me, so it means it didn't happen to someone else,"_ he said.

Only Tarakanov is alive now. He is the last witness, the last bastion for the memory not to be lost, and so, once a year he remembers those who gave their lives, so that the life of many others could go on.

Once a year it's for all of them.


	11. 11. Chimney

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern setting - established relationship

Valery had been talking non-stop for almost an hour, and had filled the blackboard with chemical calculations and formulas.

"So, is everything clear?" Finally he put down the chalk, wiped his hands, and turned to the class of elementary school children who were visiting the Kurchatov Institute.

If he expected a positive reaction and some hands raised for questions, such as during his lectures at the university, he was deeply disappointed.

Most of the children slept with their faces resting on the desk, others were catatonic, a couple were playing tic-tac-toe or naval battle, someone were drawing stars and little flowers in the notebook, Ulana's niece, the one who should have shown more interest, had made three cute origami swans, and a child even looked on the verge of tears, as if Valery had drawn a terrible ogre on the blackboard.

The teacher, sitting in a corner, stood up and cleared her throat to dispel the embarrassment, "Okay, children, let’s thank Professor Legasov for... the extremely exhaustive lesson on... er... chemistry." Not even the adult of group had understood something about it.

The few children who were still awake took on the task of waking up all the others.

A listless and still sleepy chorus of "Thank you, professor Legasov," rang out in the classroom, then the teacher clapped her hands: "And now let's go see what Professor Khomyuk has prepared for us."

The burst of cheerful cry on the part of the children was comparable only to that of the announcement of the ousting of the tsars, and the little ones rushed out of the classroom, except the upset one who was still looking at the chemical formulas on the blackboard, and that was recovered by the teacher.

On the contrary, Ulana's lesson was a huge success: she made them play with molecule models, showed them what happened when you burn mercury thiocyanate, used liquid nitrogen to freeze and break a tennis ball, and made them look into the microscope . All the children wanted to hug her before reaching the bus that would take them back to school.

"How did they prefer your lesson?" Valery asked, definitely sulking, while Ulana tidied up the lab.

"Are you really asking that?"

"Well, yes! My lesson was better, you didn’t explain virtually anything, you just let them play."

Ulana rubbed his temples: "Valery, yours was a second-year university lecture, but they are ten-year-olds! You have to plan something suitable for their age, or they’ll fall asleep."

"Oh, I will remember to add it to my curriculum: Professor Valery Legasov, sleep inducer for children!"

"Don’t get mad."

"I didn't," Valery replied, more sullen than ever.

His colleague laughed, then put hes hands on his arm: "I have to ask you a favour: next Friday my niece's class will be at my house for a little Christmas party. Twenty children, all afternoon: I fear that not even mercury thiocyanate will be enough, so can you ask Boris to come and help me, if he has no other commitments?"

"Bo-Boris? Are we talking about the same Boris?"

"Yes, exactly your Ukrainian boyfriend."

"I told you a thousand times, don't call him my boyfriend, it embarrasses me."

"I know, I do it for that reason."

"Ulya, for heaven’s sake, we haven't been boys for several decades."

"Your man then. Geez, how touchy you are today."

"That's not the point. Why do you want Boris at a children's party? If I put them to sleep, Boris will traumatize them for life!"

"It's not true, Boris is great with children, I saw him with his grandson."

In fact, Ulana wasn’t wrong: Boris, so irascible and inflexible with adults, showed an unexpected patience with children, and always made them win at board games.

"So, will you ask him?" Ulana insisted.

"Yes, I will."

"Wonderful. Oh, of course you're invited too."

"To do what, threaten them to start talking about chemistry if they don’t behave?"

"Come on, stop it," Ulana scolded him, slapping him playfully on the arm.

Boris not only was free the following Friday, he was also happy to entertain the children.

"I'll make a cake, and maybe even some pirozhki, what do you say?"

Valery didn't know what to say, but the children probably would have liked the cake.

"I'll give you a hand."

Boris kissed him on the forehead: "No, don’t worry, I’ll do it myself."

Valery understood that it was an attempt to mollify him, and he pouted: "Look, I can cook."

Boris raised an eyebrow, "Ordering from the kebab restaurant at the corner of the street isn't cooking, but don't worry, we'll tell the children that we've cooked together."

"Better not, they might refuse to eat."

"Why?"

"They didn't like me much after my lesson today."

Boris said nothing, but chuckled: he had received a message from Ulana with the report of the day. Poor Valera (and, to tell the truth, even poor children who had had to listen to him for more than an hour.)

"The truth is that I really can't deal with children," Valery went on, "I'm not even comfortable around them."

"This is strange," said Boris, sitting on the corner of the table and nestling Valery between his legs, "you have many features in common with a child."

"I beg your pardon?"

Boris stroked Valery’s cheek with his thumb: "You are naive and you say everything that comes into your head."

"Children are illogical!" Valery protested, "I never know what to tell them or how to behave around them."

"Oh, someone lost contact with his inner child," Boris kissed him on the tip of his nose, "to communicate with a child you have to put science aside and rely on magic."

"I'll keep that in mind. But now I really don't want to talk about this," Valery whispered, taking off his glasses.

"Oh, alright."

A few days later Valery was walking downtown, looking for a present for a colleague, when he saw the window of a shop decorated with plastic Santa Clauses, and he got an idea. Boris was right: the children loved the magic of the holidays, and there was nothing more magical than Santa Claus coming down the chimney with a bag full of presents.

He had been to Ulana’s place several times, it was an old, single-storey house with a large fireplace in the living room. He wasn't particularly agile, but it shouldn’t have been that difficult to place a ladder on the wall, walk up to the chimney, and then climb down using a rope ladder.

Because he wanted it to be a surprise for everyone, he didn't even say anything to Boris and Ulana, and he secretly bought the red costume, a bag of sweets, a ladder and a rope ladder. Then, the day of the party he invented an excuse and said he had to finish an important job, and that he would be late.

It was already dark when he reached Ulana's house. From inside came the voices and laughters of the children and, in the background, some Christmas songs, but no smoke was coming out of the chimney: fortunately Ulana hadn't trusted to light it, with about twenty children unleashed around the house.

Valery went to the back yard and put on his costume; while he leaned the ladder against the wall, he prayed that no neighbour would shoot him, mistaking him for a thief; he slung the rope ladder and the bag over his shoulder and cautiously climbed the steps, looking down from time to time: damn, the house didn't look so tall from below! Fortunately he didn’t suffer from vertigo and the roof wasn’t particularly sloped.

Once he reached the roof, however, he was put before an unexpected logistical problem: the fireplace in Ulana's living room was large, but the chimney not so much, and now he strongly doubted that he would fit. He wanted to make an attempt anyway: if the chimney became too narrow, then he would come down and knock on the door. Less dramatic, but still fun.

He placed the sack carefully on the roof and removed the rope ladder from his shoulder, but somehow it got caught in his fake beard; Valery gave a vigorous tug and freed himself, but he lost his beard, and hit with his foot the candy bag that slid down the roof, knocking down the ladder leaning against the wall.

"Great, really great!" He shouted. He was now stuck on the roof.

Inside the house, Boris was cutting a slice of cake for Ulana's niece, when he thought he heard a thud, but with the screaming kids it was really hard to understand what it was.

"Did you hear anything?" He asked Ulana.

"Only my increasing headache."

Valery evaluated his choices: actually he had only one, trying to climb down the chimney. The ladder leaning against the wall had fallen to the ground, he had left his cell phone in his coat pocket, even that on the ground, so he couldn't call for help. And he certainly couldn't stay long on the roof in the middle of winter, he would freeze.

Therefore he hooked the ladder to the chimney, unrolled it, hoisted himself with some difficulty over the edge, and started to go down the steps but, as he had suspected, he found himself stuck halfway. Instead of giving up and going back up, he tried to insist: maybe if he sucked in his belly, let go of the rope ladder, and let himself be pushed by gravity, he would have slid down.

He succeeded, in fact: a few seconds later he fell with a cry into Ulana's living room in a gigantic black cloud of soot. Blinded and intoxicated by the dust, he spat and coughed fearfully, and stood up waving his hands in front of him like a zombie.

The children, who had been petrified at the sight of something falling from the chimney, gave a collective cry of terror and rushed into another room, pursued by Ulana, who tried in vain to calm them down.

Boris, who had approached the stranger with a pan in his hand, mistaking him for a thief, recognized his chubby and clumsy scientist.

"Valera? What...?" He put down the pan, took out a handkerchief and wiped his face, "What the hell are you doing? And why are you dressed like the bogeyman?” 

The soot had blackened his costume to the point of making it unrecognizable.

"I'm not the bogeyman, I’m Santa Claus! I wanted to surprise the children."

"Oh yes, you surely hit them, I don't think they will forget this experience so easily. And neither do I." Boris hugged him, unable to stifle anymore the laughter that exploded in his chest.


	12. 12. Bah humbug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon setting - during the liquidation

Garo returned to the tent with a new supply of vodka, and found Pavel and Bacho, sitting on the latter's cot, opening a large package.

"Since the end of the year is approaching, my parents sent me some presents," the boy explained, and pulled out some very heavy woolen blankets and chocolate bars. "Obviously there are some for you too," he added with a smile.

He seemed really happy.

Bacho rummaged in the box looking for cigarettes, but there were none, there was only a long letter written by Pavel's mother and signed by his whole family.

Pavel gave him an apologetic smile: "My mom doesn't like smoking, I'm sorry."

Bacho spat out an unrepeatable blasphemy, but then shrugged: "Mom is always mom, right, Garo?"

The Armenian soldier eyed Pavel's family letter, muttered "Bah humbug," and went out again.

"Armenian pleasantness," Bacho said, opening a bottle of vodka, "you gotta love it, right?"

While walking through the camp, Garo realized that many liquidators had received packages from their families for the holidays.

As if in a place like this, in the midst of mud and dirt, there was something to celebrate. Even Bacho was softening, with that boy around him all the time.

The leaders of the operation perhaps thought that the liquidators were dumb, or that they would be able to maintain the strictest reserve on what was really happening, but the rumors were running fast.

That place was poison, Garo knew it. The miners who had dug the tunnel under the reactor were already getting sick, and many of them would have suffered the same fate.

Then nobody would have celebrated anything anymore.

He reached one of the parked vans and got in.

"Hey you, where do you think you're going?" Another soldier asked.

"To do my job, fucker. Animal control."

"You shouldn't be alone."

"Go fuck yourself!" Garo spat, and started the engine.

The other soldier yelled something at him, probably more insults, but finally he let him go.

Garo stayed out all day, but he didn't find many animals to kill: because of the constant gunshots, now even the dogs had become wary and remained holed up somewhere when they heard a man approaching.

The darkness fell quickly, and Garo decided to return to the base camp: it wasn’t worth breaking his neck for that job.

While driving on the dirt road, suddenly a doe came out of nowhere and jumped in front of the van; Garo braked sharply, avoiding hitting her by a whisker. Thinking about it, he could have, he had to kill her anyway, but at the camp they wouldn't have been happy with a dented and bloody van.

Garo took the rifle and got out: the doe wasn’t injured, but stayed motionless in the middle of the road, blinded by the headlights or too scared to move.

"Stupid animals! That's why you end up being hunting trophies."

He took aim, but the doe let out a weak belling and moved. She didn’t escape or jump away, she just took a few steps in the direction from which she had come, then turned back to look at Garo, without appearing frightened.

The Armenian lowered the rifle: that wasn’t a normal behavior for a wild animal. They had to be those radiations, they had driven her crazy.

And then it was better to end her suffering.

The doe belled again, and walked a little further into the bush, but then turned back to him.

Was she waiting for him and wanted him to follow her? It almost seemed so.

"What the fuck...?"

Garo put the rifle on his shoulder and followed the doe, which began to walk slowly back into the woods, until she reached an almost dry stream, where she stopped, and belled louder.

A weak belling answered her from the bed of the stream.

Garo turned on the torch and the beam of light illuminated a fawn, stuck in the mud, tangled amid brambles and dry creepers that almost prevented him from moving. Furthermore, the banks of the stream were too steep and made slippery by the mud, so that the fawn couldn’t climb up, he was too small and weak to do it alone.

A memory of childhood surfaced in Garo’s mind: his mother's arms, her sweet smile when she helped him get up from the ground after a fall, the smell of apples and nutmeg that filled the kitchen during the winter holidays and the voice of his mother singing an old folk song.

The doe continued to look at Garo in silence with her meek brown eyes.

They were two easy prey, mother and fawn, Garo had killed puppies and drowned kittens in those months, and now? Was he hesitating because it was a holiday season?

Bah humbug.

He took the knife from its sheath.

A few minutes later he returned to the van, without prey, and with muddy boots.

They were two easy prey, yes, but then he would have to drag them through the woods to the van and he didn't want to make that effort. As for the fawn he had freed from the brambles, giving him back to the doe... he didn't want to think about it too much.

When he returned to the tent, Bacho and Pavel were already asleep, but they had left the lantern lit for him, and on his cot there was a woolen blanket and a bar of chocolate.


	13. 13. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon setting - during the liquidation

Pavel stamped his feet to warm himself, and his boots crunched on the layer of frost that covered the hard, icy ground.

Winter was very hard around there, but it would be over soon.

The Kremlin had decided that the work done by the animal control and other liquidators was enough, a part of the camp had already been dismantled, and the reinforced concrete sarcophagus was finally being raised around the reactor.

On one hand, the boy was happy to return to civilization, to have the privacy of a toilet, and to be able to take a shower every day, but on the other his mind was full of thoughts.

"Pasha!" Bacho called him, and Pavel got up from the fence he was sitting on, putting out the cigarette.

"Come on, hurry up, it's time to get back to work. Were you daydreaming again?"

"Not exactly, I was thinking about what I will do once I get home. You know, before I came here I had plans, but now," Pavel clicked his tongue on the palate, "I'm not so sure, maybe I changed my mind."

It’s not that Bacho invited him to speak, but when Pavel did it, he never told him to shut up, so the boy had taken it as a sign that his talks didn’t bother him.

"Maybe I could join the army," Pavel continued, "what do you say?"

"I say it's the most idiotic idea you've had since you got here!" Bacho's anger exploded so suddenly that Pavel started, scared.

"Why, what did I say?"

Bacho pushed him, making him fall to the ground.

"Do you feel so much a man? Well, then go back to camp alone."

Pavel lay in the frost, dumbfounded, while Bacho shoved Garo roughly towards the truck, and left without him. 

Really, he didn't understand why Bacho was so angry: he was a soldier, Pavel thought he would appreciate that he too wanted to become one.

And Bacho’s reaction had hurt him: during those months, Garo and Bacho had become a family for Pavel.

Many liquidators found the two soldiers frightening, but the boy had become fond of those two, who had taught him to shoot and overcome remorse, had protected him and had prevented him from getting hurt.

When he arrived at the camp, Pavel didn't understand why Bacho had declared out loud  _ "the kid is with me," _ as if it were a warning not to touch him. He had learned it only later, when rumors and stories had spread in the camp, and Pavel understood what happens when thousands of men are crammed together for months without wives or girlfriends.

And now... what had he said wrong?

However, he couldn’t sit there forever: he was in a village 20 kilometers from the camp and had to return before evening. There was a car parked along the main street, and Pavel tried to put it in motion, but without keys he had no idea how to do it, so he gave up and walked back.

It took him almost all day, even marching without stopping, and he was dead tired, hungry and cold when finally reached the camp.

Garo was standing in front of the canteen tent, smoking a cigarette.

"I had a bowl of soup set aside for you," he said in his broken Russian and Pavel thanked him with a nod.

The soup was cold, but Pavel was too hungry to care.

"Look at you," Garo said in a scornful tone, "You can’t stand up and you only walked a little, without even carrying a backpack. Do you think you have the right stuff to become a soldier just because you know how to shoot targets that run happily at you? In a real war you wouldn't last a day." That said, he left him alone.

The Armenian soldier wasn’t wrong, and he spoke according to his experience: who knows how many idealistic and inexperienced kids as him he had seen die.

Now Pavel understood Bacho's outburst of anger a little better.

A family wasn’t just understanding and protection, family was also calling out when someone was wrong or was about to do something foolish. And everyone did it their way. Surely Pavel couldn’t have expected someone like Bacho to put a hand on his shoulder and talk to him with his heart in his hand.

But after a march of twenty kilometers on a winter day, the message had arrived loud and clear: Pavel wasn’t cut for being a soldier.

After dinner, he went back into the tent and threw himself on his cot.

"I'll come back home, and I think I will go to university," he said.

He received no reply from Bacho or Garo, but it was a silence that spoke of approval, and that was fine.


	14. 14. Not a creature was stirring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern setting - established relationship

His stomach gurgled loudly and Valery put his hand on it, frowning. He realized he was starving, and looked at the clock hanging above the door: it was past eight o'clock in the evening.

He put the pen down on the desk and stood up: it was time to take a break, even his legs were protesting for having remained still too long.

He went to the loo, then rummaged in his wallet in search of some coins and took a ham sandwich and a bottle of water from the vending machine in the corridor, without meeting a soul: his colleagues and collaborators were already at home.

He returned to his office and moved the reports he was reviewing to one side of the desk to make room for the meager dinner.

His phone screen lit up: there was a message from Boris.

**"Sorry, I'm still in a meeting."**

It made him smile that a deputy minister had secretly taken his phone out of his pocket during a meeting just to let him know what he was doing. It was cute.

**"Don't worry, I'm still working, too,"** he typed quickly, then he finished eating, and immediately went back to work, even though his heartburn didn't thank him.

He received another notification from Boris.

**"It almost seems like we're in a competition to determine who works harder."**

That meeting had to be incredibly boring as well as endless, if Boris was so distracted.

**"True. And we don't even get an award for that,"** he typed. He waited a few moments, but Boris didn’t reply, so Valery resumed what he was doing before.

However, after a while he suppressed a yawn and rubbed his eyes: it was getting late and now he was struggling to concentrate. Perhaps it was better to leave the revisions for the next day, when his mind would have been fresh, and move on to respond to emails.

A back discomfort convinced him to take another short break, first.

He got up again and went to the window, discovering that it was snowing: a thick layer already covered the streets and the parked cars. When he went to the loo, he didn't even notice it started to snow.

He picked up his phone and wrote a message to Boris.

**"Pay attention when you come home, it's snowing."**

**"You too,"** was the reply that arrived shortly after.

**"I'll take a taxi, I should wait too long for the bus and I don't have the right shoes."**

**"But I told you this morning that the weather would get worse."**

**"You're right :p"**

**"And what did we say about using these symbols?"**

**"You're the one who doesn't like them. I do :*"**

**"You're ridiculous Valera, you're not a kid."**

Boris had an austere idea about the use of smartphones: he appreciated them as tools for work and conversation, but there was no way to convert him to the use of emojis or, worse, gifs.

Valery put the phone back on the desk and replied to a few emails, but his eyes continued to run to the window and to the snow that accumulated on the roofs of the surrounding buildings.

Even if in the city it created many problems, worsened an already tragic traffic, and people grumbled because they had to plow it, the snow had its charm.

Of course, it would have been better to watch it sitting on the sofa at home, with a cup of tea, and Boris's arm around his shoulders, but he had to content himself with watching the snowfall from there.

When he finished answering emails, he went on to check and sign other documents: moving forward today meant having less work tomorrow.

Although, knowing himself, tomorrow he would find some other commission to tend. It certainly couldn’t be said that he was a procrastinator.

The sound of notifications made him stop working again.

**"I just left my office. I'm going to buy something to eat, the fridge is half empty."**

Valery sighed, feeling a little guilty, and replied:  **"Actually I ate something here."**

**"You know the sandwiches from the vending machine are terrible, and they give you heartburn."**

**"I was hungry."**

**"You should learn to bring something from home."**

**"Yes mom :)"**

Boris didn’t reply, and Valery sent him another message:  **"Did you get offended? I was just kidding."**

Still no reply.

**"If you don't answer, I'll send you a voice message."**

If there was one thing that Boris hated more than emoji, it was voice messages, but since Valery got no reply, he went back to his paperwork. Maybe Boris was driving and couldn't answer, or he was in the supermarket and he didn't hear the phone.

Somewhere in another room, an old wooden wardrobe creaked, and the sound seemed to resonate louder in the silence of the building.

Valery's gaze ran back to the window: no sound was heard, no car was passing in the street, not even a dog barked, it seemed that not a creature was stirring.

Only he, his computer, his documents.

And a man who had gone shopping and was waiting for him at home.

Valery put his pen down on the desk, and suddenly his being there, working like a madman until late, seemed useless and even stupid. No one would take care of the reports he had checked, no one would read the emails he had sent, if not the next day.

He wondered why he was still there, on such a beautiful night, and not where he really wanted to be: at home, watching the snowfall with Boris and dozing in front of an old black and white movie.

Maybe his being a workaholic made sense when he was alone, and at home there was nothing better waiting for him, but now things had changed in his life.

He put the cap back on the pen and put it in the pen holder, turned off the computer (no, to hell with the updates, he would have dealt with them another day) and closed the file folder.

He sent a message to Boris:  **"I’m calling a taxi now to go home."**

"No need," said a deep voice in the doorway of his office.

Boris was there, holding a shopping bag, snowflakes slowly melting on his dark coat.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to claim my man," he replied, bending down to steal a kiss, "and I thought that in this weather, you would have waited hours for a taxi too."

Valery looked at him fondly and stood on tiptoe to claim another kiss.

"You looked so serious when I arrived," Boris said, "what were you thinking about?"

"That I don't want to leave work late anymore, it's a bad habit that has stuck to me over the years, but I want to change," he replied, placing a hand on his neck.

Boris' lips brushed his nose, tickled his cheek, making him giggle, and finally they stopped on his ear.

"Maybe I can do something to encourage this change."

Valery laughed harder and hugged him.


	15. 15. Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern setting - Young!Valoris AU

Someone run through the corridor, laughing, someone else was shouting, and Valery grumbled: how could he concentrate with that racket?

He read his notes aloud, hoping to drown the other sounds, but soon after someone knocked insistently on the door of his room.

"Valery, open up!"

It was his friend Ulana, a brutally stubborn girl: Valery knew she wouldn't leave, so he stood up and opened the door.

The girl looked him up and down and frowned: "What are you doing in your pajamas?"

"It's not a pajama, it's a tracksuit," Valery muttered, pulling the hem of his shirt down.

"Whatever, for sure it’s not suitable for the party."

Valery snorted his impatience: "Ulya, I've already told you, I don't feel like going to the party."

"But it’s the New year’s eve, there is an hour to midnight, you can't study this night too!"

"What is the difference with other days? We’re in the last year of university, we should study at all times."

"Not tonight, so now dress decently and come down with me. By the way, what do you say?" She asked, putting her hands on her hips.

Valery was completely lost: "About what?"

Ulana sighed in annoyance: "I'll see the Hell freeze before I hear a compliment from you. I'm talking about my dress!"

"First of all you have to know that, according to the most traditional representations of Christianity, the Hell is in fact a frozen place, not fire and flames..." he began, but his friend's face told him that she didn't want to hear a philosophical dissertation on the afterlife, then he looked at her dress. "It's maroon," he remarked flatly. It was a dress, what else could he tell her?

"You know Valery, I consider myself a person with a very positive attitude, but I’m seriously losing all hope with you."

A boy passing in the corridor looked at her admiringly: "Damn, you're gorgeous tonight, Ulya!"

"Thanks, Igor!" She replied, then looked at Valery raising an eyebrow: "See, that's how it works."

"I'll take note," he muttered, "Okay, now I'll get dressed and come." Valery made to close the door, but Ulana stopped him: "Oh no, I have to check that you don't choose something too horrible."

A few minutes later, after Ulana had discarded half of Valery's wardrobe, the two went down to the crowded dormitory common room: the music played at full volume, people smoked, drank, and someone had even lit sparklers. Valery was sure it wasn't allowed.

"Where is the guardian?"

"They brought him a crate of vodka before the party started, I think he's already sleeping."

"Can I go and keep him company?"

"Oh stop it! Do you want to tell me that you aren’t thrilled, not even a little bit?"

"No."

"Well, you should! Maybe at midnight your life will completely change!"

"How so?"

"I don't know, but in the meantime, wait here, I'll go get something to drink."

Ulana walked to the counter and took two plastic cups of sparkling wine. Her friend Marina, who took care of the bar, greeted her warmly.

"Incredible! Were you able to bring Legasov?"

"Yes, although, to be honest, I don't know if I was right: he doesn't like these things."

"Oh, nonsense! He just needs to melt a little," Marina said, and added gin and vodka to Valery's glass.

"Valery isn’t used to drinking: I don't know if it's a good idea."

"Trust me, it is."

In order not to hinder the people who were dancing and running around, Valery leaned against the wall, looking around and waving to some classmates, but he had no desire to throw himself into that chaos.

Suddenly a man caught his attention: he towered above all the students in the room, and was much more adult than all of them, in his forties, with black hair and grey eyes, broad shoulders, and a confident smile.

Gorgeous.

Valery tried to swallow, but his throat was dry.

_ "Where the hell is Ulana with that drink?" _

The man was surrounded by a small group of girls, some intimidated by his bulk, others who were flirted more openly, and Valery would have paid gold to be in the middle of that group.

"I bet you’d compliment him for his suit," Ulana chuckled, putting the cup in his hand.

Valery was gay, and Ulana was one of the few people who knew it.

"Is that obvious?" Valery asked, continuing to look at him.

"You're eating him with your eyes. You could be more explicit only by throwing at him your pants."

"ULYA!" Valery exclaimed, shocked, but in response, his friend stuck her tongue out.

"Do you want to tell me you weren't thinking about that?"

"Maybe... but there is no need to shout it."

Indeed, Valery's mind had been lost in a rather explicit fantasy, which included the same room, empty, only he and that man, with much less clothes and Valery kneeling before him, as he...

As if he had intercepted his thoughts, the man looked in their direction. His eyes met Valery's and his lips rose in a smile.

Valery blushed: he was looking at him, he was looking right at him, in a sea of boys and girls much more attractive and jaunty than a clumsy, bespectacled nerd.

On his left, Ulana beaconed him to come closer, and Valery looked at her in terror.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm arranging a date for you. I told this midnight would be special for you.”

"Ulya, no! No, no, no, I wouldn't know what to tell him."

"Then use your tongue in another way."

"Stop that! He's almost here,” Valery hissed and then, panicked, took to a hasty escape through a door that led to the courtyard.

"Valery, wait! Oh fuck, I didn't even tell him what's in the cup!"

The bitter cold of the night calmed him, but Valery didn’t stop insulting himself: idiot, idiot, idiot, he had come off like a complete idiot! Now who knows what that man thought of him, he despaired, collapsing on a bench.

He needed to smoke.

He set the untouched plastic cup down on the bench, poured some tobacco on the rolling paper, arranged the filter, rolled the cigarette with an expert gesture and lit it.

Much better.

"Hey, are you alright? Your friend asked me to come check on you."

It was that man. He had a wonderful, rough, but rich and deep voice, a voice that caused shivers down his spine, and up close his eyes were even more beautiful.

"Yes, I'm fine, I'm fine," Valery stammered, when the man sat next to him, "it's just a little too hot in the common room for me, er..."

"Boris Evdokimovich."

"Valery Alekseevich. I've never seen you around: are you new? Are you part of the staff?" He asked hopefully: he wouldn't mind if Boris worked there in the dorm.

Boris studied him briefly before answering: "No, I accompanied the daughter of a friend who didn’t have a ride. Then, given the exuberant atmosphere and the absence of the guardian, I decided to stay, in case there are problems, or some suitor becomes too insistent with her."

"On my part, no danger," Valery said, then his eyes widened in terror, realizing what his words sounded, "I mean, I... I'm not insistent with people who don't want to..."

Better to put the cigarette back in his mouth and keep it busy so that he didn't say any more nonsense.

"Weed?" Boris asked, raising an eyebrow.

Obviously, a guy who smoked a handmade cigarette at night in a deserted courtyard, was easily misunderstood, but he didn't want Boris to think he was an addict, other than an idiot.

"I know what it looks like, but I swear it's not a joint. I buy loose tobacco because it costs less."

"Really? Can I check?"

There was a strange nuance in Boris' voice that Valery couldn’t identify. Joking? Serious? Seductive?

Before he could open his mouth to ask him what he meant, Boris grabbed his wrist in a gentle but firm grip, brought Valery's hand close to his face and closed his thin lips around the filter of his cigarette.

Where just before Valery's lips were resting.

Almost better than his fantasy.

Valery made a funny gurgling sound, and Boris exhaled the smoke slowly, letting it hover between them for a few moments.

"You were telling the truth, it's just tobacco."

Boris' fingers slipped off his wrist very slowly, almost like a caress, and Valery's eyes followed the movement, hypnotized.

"Are you okay?" Boris asked, and Valery desperately looked for something intelligent and brilliant to say, something that dissipated the impression of a total idiot, but after Boris' gesture his mind was broken. He only managed to nod like a robot.

It was all Boris's fault: what was he thinking, smoking a cigarette from his hand? Throwing fuel on the fire of his fantasies?

Desperate, Valery drained his cup of sparkling wine in one gulp, and Boris's eyes widened.

"Ah... actually I came to tell you that..."

A burst of colourful lights illuminated the sky around them: midnight had struck, and suddenly Valery felt bold and euphoric, unrestrained as he had ever been in his life.

He threw the empty cup behind him, ran a hand through Boris' thick raven hair, silencing him instantly, and pushed his face against his, kissing him.

The contact with his lips made him dizzy.

Boris stiffened for one second, then put his hands on Valery's hips and tilted his head, deepening the kiss.

Ulana was right: life could really change at midnight.

However, when he broke away from Boris to catch his breath, the world became a dizzying swirl of colours, then darkness fell around him.

Valery emerged from sleep with an annoyed grunt, and opened his eyes to a large and airy room, with a double bed covered with a soft goose down duvet.

Not his shabby room at the dorm.

A brief inspection under the covers revealed that he was completely naked, but his mind was a black hole: he remembered absolutely nothing after the kiss with Boris.

He put his head in his hands.

"Don't tell me I had a night of unbridled sex and I don't remember it. Come on, it's not fair!” He swore, turning to some imaginary gods.

"Nothing happened, I don't take advantage of the drunken boys. Good morning"

Boris was leaning against the door frame with his arms folded.

Drunk? Was that why he didn't remember anything?

"Good morning,” Valery answered, “But I only drank a glass of sparkling wine, I couldn’t be drunk."

"Your friend Ulana had told me to warn you that the drink had been splashed with gin and vodka, but your impetuousness didn't leave me the time."

Perhaps Valery should apologize for that sudden kiss? But he didn't want to do it, he didn't regret it, and then also Boris flirted openly with him, by smoking his cigarette.

"Why am I naked, then?" He asked instead.

Boris scratched an eyebrow: "You vomited on yourself."

Valery lay down again, pulling the duvet over his head and groaning dramatically. He had never been so ashamed in his life.

"You had to leave me on that bench to die."

He felt the mattress lower.

"I could never have. Your clothes are in the dryer now, they're almost ready."

Valery slowly lowered the duvet to reveal his eyes.

"Why did you take me to your house?"

"Ulana said she didn't want the dorm to see you drunk to protect your reputation. She also said that since I couldn't stop you from drinking, I had to take care of you."

"Forgive my friend: she's a good girl, but sometimes she's too intrusive."

"It's not a problem: as I told you, I don't take advantage of drunk boys, but I'm not the kind of guy who disappears after a kiss."

Valery experienced the same intense vertigo of the night before, but this time alcohol had nothing to do with it.

“Well, I'm sober now," he murmured, sliding the duvet off his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't know if students can throw a New Year's Eve party in a obshaga (the equivalent of a University dorm / housing).


	16. 16. Baby please come home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern setting - established relationship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's story is inspired by [ this wonderful fanart](https://elenatria.tumblr.com/post/188048907633/nothings-gonna-change-my-world) by [Elenetria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenatria/pseuds/elenatria), whose great art is often inspirational to me ~ thank you ♥  
> The fanart is at the bottom of the story with the artist's permission.

The quality that Boris Shcherbina admired most in his interns was the willingness to learn and to carry out their apprenticeship to the fullest.

At least until the zeal of one of them put his relationship with Valera in danger.

No, to be honest it wasn’t the intern's fault, but it’s better to start from the beginning.

Boris had left Stepan, his last intern, to sort out the correspondence, saying him that, in case of problems, he could call him: Boris would go to the Kurchatov Institute for unspecified institutional commitments before returning home.

Stepan had some questions, in fact, and called his boss, but he heard the phone ring in the other room: Shcherbina had forgotten it there.

Although it wasn’t part of the job, Stepan was convinced that bringing the phone back to his boss would make an excellent impression.

And then it was almost Christmas: it would have been his good deed.

He picked up Shcherbina's phone, jumped on his bike and headed to the Kurchatov Institute, where they told him that the deputy minister was in the office of Professor Valery Legasov for sure.

In his three months of internship, Stepan had never heard about this Legasov, and when he knocked on the door of his office, he found himself in front of a man with a chubby face full of freckles and reddish hair that could be only described as disheveled. This, combined with the absence of a jacket and tie, and the ruffled shirt, made him frown, but Stepan knew that scientists could be very eccentric. And anyway, it wasn't his business.

"Can I do anything for you?" Legasov asked the boy.

"I'm looking for Deputy Minister Shcherbina."

"You missed him by a hair's breadth, he just left," the professor replied with a strange smile, trying to arrange his hair.

"I wanted to give him his phone back, he forgot it in the office."

"Oh, then you must be Stepan, Borja talks often about you."

Borja?

This professor and his boss had to be very close friends, given the use of the affectionate nickname. Stepan was about to ask him something about the nature of their relationship, when he was distracted by the radio speaker.

"What a coincidence: this radio station is also the favourite of the deputy minister."

"I know it well, I made him discover it. Leave me the phone," Valery said, holding out a hand with a smile, "I'll give it back to him tonight. It's a golden opportunity to tease him a bit: usually I'm the one who forgets everything around."

Did those two even have dinner together?

Stepan looked at the bookcase behind the professor's desk, and a framed photo made him start and gape.

They were Shcherbina and Legasov, elegant in their suits, in an unmistakable pose. The deputy minister was behind the professor and held him possessively, while Legasov sported such a happy smile that could light up the world. Two gold bands were clearly visible on their ring finger.

Stepan was stunned: of course, he had noticed the ring on his boss' finger, but out of discretion, he had never asked about his private life.

Certainly he hadn’t imagined... this.

Legasov followed his gaze to the photograph and back to the boy's shocked face, and his smile faded.

"Well, judging from your reaction, I imagine Boris doesn't have the same photo in his office, right?" he whispered.

Stepan nervously rubbed his hands over his jeans.

"The boss is a very discreet man, I don't know much about his private life: he only talks about work," he smiled, trying to fix the gaffe, "In short, you know him better than me, you know how he is."

"I thought I knew."

"Professor Legasov, I..."

"Leave me phone, Stepan, and thank you."

Legasov’s words had a farewell inflection, and the boy left, but he had the impression that he had made a big mess, instead of helping his boss.

When Boris heard the key turn in the hole, he was in the kitchen, slicing some vegetables, and looked at the clock: Valery had left work early.

"What is it, can't you stay away from me?" He asked cheerfully, not lifting his eyes from the chopping board.

Valery didn't answer, but something was leaned heavily on the table, and this made Boris turn around.

Valery hadn't taken his coat off, and had thrown his phone on the table.

"Where did you find it? I thought I left it in my office."

"Indeed. Stepan, your new intern, brought it to me. He was very surprised when he saw the photo of our wedding on my bookcase and found out that we were married, which is curious, you know, because I was sure that I had made two copies of that photo, and that I gave you yours to put in your office."

Boris swallowed, looked away, but didn’t try to deny it, it was useless.

"Valera, I can explain."

"First you should ask me if I want to listen to you."

Boris had never seen him so angry: his eyes and his voice were dead cold, his pallor more evident than usual.

"No, don't do this. Let's sit down and talk calmly, okay?” He begged, but Valery didn't move.

"Are you ashamed of me, Boris? Of us? Of what we are?"

"No, of course not."

"Then tell me, how many people in your department know about us?"

"I don’t shout about my private life from the rooftops," he replied defensively, but Valery didn't want to hear his lame excuses.

"I'm not talking about telling what we do in bed during the coffee break, but just keeping the picture of our wedding on the desk, like I do. I don't think I’m asking too much."

"Valera, I'm sorry, but let me explain, please." Boris held out a hand to him, but Valery didn’t take it: discovering that Boris kept their marriage secret had hurt him tremendously, and now he felt a petty satisfaction in inflicting him the same suffering with his coldness.

“At the Kurchatov Institute everyone knows about us, and if someone comes into my office and asks who is the man in the picture with me, I have no problem telling him he's my husband."

Boris ran a hand through his hair.

"You can't compare our workplaces."

"What? And why?"

"Scientists are more open, progressive. My office is frequented by different people, they wouldn't understand. And I don't want any of my political opponents to target you to attack me."

"Do you believe that all my colleagues understand or are supportive? It’s not like that, many are openly hostile to me, but I don't care about their judgment, as I wouldn't mind the insults of your opponents," Valery paused and clenched his fists, "and I don't care if what I am can hinder my career. Can you say the same?"

Boris looked down: whatever he said now, it wouldn’t calm Valery's anger. And, after all, he had no right to seek excuses and justifications.

Valery was partly right: he wasn't ashamed of the two of them, but he feared the judgment of the people and the consequences that that judgment could have. Also on his career.

When Valery went into the bedroom, Boris thought he wanted to change and that the storm had subsided, but soon he came out with a small suitcase, and Boris' heart skipped a beat in fear.

"V-Valera, where are you going? Please, try to..."

"No, Boris." Valery's voice was harsh and left no room for negotiations. "I just ask you not to take it out on the poor Stepan tomorrow. He just wanted to be kind: what happened is in no way his fault."

"I know, it's my fault alone. But can't we talk about it?"

"Now I have nothing to say to you."

Boris didn’t try to physically stop him, didn’t touch him, but begged and followed him to the door.

"I'm sorry. You're right, I was an idiot, I hurt you, but you know I love you, don't you?"

Valery nodded sadly: he knew, he didn't doubt Boris' feelings, and that made the situation even more difficult, but he couldn't stay.

As he closed the door behind him, Boris repeated again "I love you," and Valery pursed his lips angrily.

_ "Fuck, then prove it to me!" _

Valery took a train and went to his hometown Tula, where he still had his parents' old apartment. He rarely came back, but he never decided to put it up for sale, because he had some good memories there.

The train was full of people returning home for the holidays, mostly students returning to their parents, and the carriage was full of their cheerful voices.

Valery's phone rang three times. It was Boris, but Valery really didn't want to talk to him, he couldn't. The satisfaction of scaring and hurting him in turn had been short-lived, now he was just incredibly sad because her husband considered the judgment of faceless strangers so important that he wanted to hide that he was married to a man.

However, when he set foot in the old, dusty and cold apartment, with a empty fridge and the bed that had to be done, he slowly slid to the floor and looked around.

"What the hell am I doing here?" He snapped, lighting a cigarette. Perhaps it would have been better to stay in Moscow, and try to talk with Boris.

His husband had sent him three messages.

**"Where are you?"**

**"It’s okay if you don't want to tell me where you are, just let me know you're fine."**

**"Please Valera, I'm worried."**

"Well, you had to think about it before," Valery hissed, but as angry as he was, he didn't want Boris to die of a broken heart because of his radio silence, so he simply replied,  **"I'm fine."**

Even if no, he wasn't fine at all.

The next day, Stepan barely looked up at his boss when he arrived on the workplace.

Shcherbina was late, a very rare event, and he hadn't shaved that morning, an even rarer event.

He didn’t greet anyone and shut himself up in his office, but soon the boy could no longer bear the tension, so he got up and walked into his room.

"Deputy Minister, I'm sorry: I just wanted to be nice to you, instead I think I embarrassed you with Professor Legasov. Can I do something to fix it?"

Shcherbina shook his head wearily: he didn't seem to have slept that night.

"You did nothing wrong, Stepan, I am the only one liable for this disaster. Go back to work."

Stepan walked to the door, but then turned back to Boris.

"You are a great boss!" He exclaimed, "My opinion hasn't changed since yesterday and it won't change."

Boris couldn't really smile, the pain weighing on his heart was too much, but he bent his head in a nod of thanks.

Stepan became more audacious: "And I'll tell you another thing: if someone judges you for your relationship with Professor Legasov, well... then they’re just a bunch of idiots!"

Yeah, they were, and yet Boris worried more about some nameless cretin than his husband's feelings.

"You're a good lad, Stepan. But I guess you don't have any advice on how to make a very, very angry husband forgive me."

"What about a striking gesture?"

"A what?"

"When I was fifteen I wrote a giant  _ ‘I love you’ _ with spray paint on the parking lot in front of my girlfriend's house. Her father almost shot me, and then I had to erase the writing with a mop, but it was worth it."

Finally Boris smiled: "I'll think about it."

He tried to get to work, but he really couldn't concentrate, so he turned on the radio on his and Valery’s favourite station.

It was the moment when the audience could ask to dedicate a song to someone, and so he had an idea: a striking gesture, yes, because Valery was the most important thing in his life, much more important than his career, and it was time to shout it to the whole world.

Valery was chewing listlessly some tuna. He didn't like to cook when he was in a good mood, when he was depressed he barely had the will to use the can opener.

He had also run out of cigarettes, but it was raining heavily, and he didn't want to go out and buy them.

To break the heavy silence and dispel the melancholy, he turned on the radio while the final notes of a song went on the air.

"And now a really, really special message," the speaker said, and it was clear that he was very excited, "We do our best and choose wonderful songs for you, but we are a small radio station. Therefore, we are very excited to have Deputy Minister Boris Shcherbina among our listeners, and he wants to dedicate a song to his husband, Professor Valery Legasov, to say he loves him."

The fork fell from Valery's fingers: WHAT?

"Valery, we hope you’re listening, because  _ Baby please come home  _ is all for you."

A moment later the ringing of the bells and the shrill voice of Mariah Carey filled the room:

_ The snow's comin 'down _

_ (Christmas) I'm watchin 'it fall _

_ (Christmas) lots of people around _

_ (Christmas) baby, please come home _

Valery covered his mouth with his hands: Boris had announced live on a radio that they were married!

_ Pretty lights on the tree _

_ (Christmas) I'm watching them shine _

_ (Christmas) you should be here with me _

_ (Christmas) baby, please come home _

Valery's phone vibrated.

**"Come home, my love."**

It was almost time for dinner, and Boris was beginning to fear that Valery wasn't listening to the radio when his message went on air.

Or maybe it wasn't enough.

Then he heard the key and the front door swung open.

Valery barely had time to put down the suitcase, then Boris lifted him from the ground and kissed him.

"Valery, you're here."

"I'm here," he whispered, leaning his forehead against his.

"I was a fool, can you forgive me?"

"I forgive you," Valery assured him, kissing his nose, cheeks and lips again, "I heard the song and your message, thank you." It was all that Valery wanted: to know that he was important to his husband, more important of his fears.

"I love you Valera!"

"Wait till you see the bill of the taxi I took to get back here from Tula," he laughed.

"It doesn't matter, all that matters is that you came home to me."

The next day, the framed picture of their wedding day sat proudly on the desk of the deputy minister Shcherbina.


	17. 17. Wonder

For a long time she thought that there was no longer any wonder in the world.

No reason to get up in the morning, get dressed, eat, live.

For a long time she didn’t perceive any wonder around her, only a long string of memories that gnawed at her heart, silences, apathy.

For a long time they told her that there would be no wonder in her life, it was impossible, she had to settle for what she had.

That is to say nothing.

But everyone was wrong, included her.

The wonder is still there, it has survived, stubborn and tenacious, stronger than the forecasts, the pain, the science, and has returned in her life.

It’s there, in front of his eyes, and has the shape of a toddler who sees the snow for the first time, raising his chubby little hands towards the sky.

"Snow," the mother explains.

"Ow," her son repeats, after a brief pause of reflection.

"Ow," Lyudmilla agrees with a smile.


	18. 18. Exhausted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Chernobyl

Spitak, December 1988

The devastation caused by the earthquake is something so immense that it’s difficult to describe.

It’s as if the giant hand of a child had enjoyed destroying sand castles, but those sand castles were buildings, and inside there were human beings.

In Spitak nothing is standing anymore, you can’t tell apart the buildings, the landscape is an indistinct mass of rubble that extends as far as the eye can see.

The few survivors, who were on the streets when the quake struck, now dig bare hand among the remains of their houses.

There is so much to do, so many people who need help, that whatever Boris' men do, it seems to be of no use.

_ "It's like trying to empty the sea with a toy bucket," _ he thinks, as he works tirelessly and coordinates the teams that have arrived on the site of the disaster.

Here he is, facing another tragedy, even more devastating than Chernobyl,as unlikely as it seems.

And this time he wasn’t sent here because the Kremlin underestimated the problem, believing it was nothing serious, but because nobody wants to deal with that disaster, and he is expendable, because he will not live long.

Boris never backed off when it came to doing his duty, and he won't back off this time either, he wants to help those people, he wants to bring them relief, but he's not the same man he was a few years ago, he's a man wounded in the soul and sick in the body. He must often stop to catch his breath and give a rest to his tired heart, he needs to move in a jeep even for short journeys, and his words are interrupted by violent coughing, so that the soldiers who accompany him often look at him with compassion, as if to say,  _ "Why did they send a dying man here?" _

His little energy runs out in a short time, and in the evening Boris almost drags himself on his cot.

It's damn cold here, and he's so tired that, when he closes his eyes, he begs that he never has to open them again.

"Boris... Boris, come on, wake up."

Someone is shaking him by the shoulder, but Boris reacts with an annoyed grunt and a tug to bring the blankets over his head, and turns around. He won't get up.

"Hey, pay attention, you bull, you almost hit my nose with your elbow."

"Valera?" Boris shouts, sitting up.

"Yes, it's me," the scientist replies with a smile.

"Valera, I haven’t dream of you in a long time!"

Boris is aware that this is a dream, he always is when he dreams of Valery, inside his heart he knows that Valery died a few months before, but this doesn’t prevent him from grabbing Valery around the waist and dragging him on the bed.

Valery lets out a surprised "ooof" and then the sound of something falling to the ground and breaking is heard.

"Boris, those were my glasses! I don't have a spare pair."

But Boris doesn't care about glasses, as he wraps Valery in his embrace and covers his face with kisses. He holds the scientist under him and squeezes him tightly, as if he were afraid of seeing him disappear like mist at sunrise.

"Boris, you're crushing me," Valery complains, so Boris rolls on his side, but doesn't let him go.

"Hey love, what's wrong?" Valery asks, stroking his face.

"I'm tired, Valera, I'm exhausted," Boris sighs, closing his eyes.

"I know," Valery replies, kissing his forehead.

"I can’t do it."

"No, don't say that, of course you can."

"No, not this time. It's too big, too devastating," Boris opens his eyes and takes Valery's hand in his, "and now I'm alone."

"It’s not true, I’m always here with you, in your mind and in your thoughts."

"I'm afraid it's not enough. I miss you, I miss you terribly."

Boris hugs him again, and Valery leans his head on Boris’ shoulder.

It’s good to be on this bed, the room is warm, no noises are heard, and Valery is in his arms.

He likes here.

"I want to stay here with you."

Valery's hands move on his back, "I'd love to."

"Then I'll stay."

Valery raises his head and his lips bend into a sad smile: "I'm sorry Boris, but you can't, not yet."

"Why?"

"Because, once again, you are the one who matters the most, the only one who can make the difference for these people."

"But how? Did you see what this earthquake caused, how can I do… anything?"

"Be the stubborn Ukrainian I have known. Be that Boris, it will be enough."

"Will I see you again?"

"I'll be here whenever you need me."

The next day Boris is on his way to coordinate the rescues.

"We need more men, molecular dogs, infrared cameras to find alive people under the debris, blood for the wounded, a field hospital, and all the excavators that can arrive here."

"I don't know if the Soviet Union has all these means," replies one of the soldier accompanying him.

"Then they will come from beyond the Iron Curtain."

"This is absolutely impossible, Deputy Minister..."

"We'll see."

Boris is still exhausted, the disease eats him from inside day by day, and he can’t wait for the day when he will rest on that bed with Valery forever, but for now, here, he must still be the one who matters the most.


	19. 19. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel of Day 16: Baby please come home

They were watching a movie sitting on the couch, but at one point Boris' head fell heavily on Valery's shoulder.

It happened often in the last few days, and Valery prodded him on his side to make him wake up.

"Go to bed if you're that tired."

"I'm fine," Boris grumbled.

"No," Valery insisted, "you’ll end up having a stiff neck if you stay too long in this position, and you know it. Go to sleep, I'll join you when the movie ends."

Boris put his arms over his head and stretched: "You're right. Besides, tomorrow morning I’ve to get to the office earlier than usual."

The film was interrupted by the commercial break and, on the screen, the images of Lapland and the voice of the speaker invited the viewers to spend a different Christmas holiday there.

"I think we should do it," Valery suggested.

"What, going to Lapland to freeze our buttocks? No thanks."

Valery snorted a laugh: "No, I was talking in general terms: we should take a vacation for Christmas, escape from the work, from the city, from everything."

"It would be nice," Boris sighed, stroking his ear, "but it's not possible. The end of the year is near and my office is drowning in deadlines."

"Anyway, you're working too hard," Valery shook his head disapprovingly: for days Boris had left early in the morning and returned after dinner time, and Valery was sure he would often skip lunch, "It's not healthy at all."

"Unfortunately deadlines don't care about what is healthy. Maybe after the holidays I can get a few days off." Boris kissed him on the temple and went to sleep, while Valery remained on the sofa, a bit sullen: he wanted to go on holiday for the holidays, not after.

On the one hand, he knew it was stupid, almost childish, because Christmas was just a commercial holiday and neither of them was religious, but he loved the concept of Christmas, the atmosphere, the joy of spending time together in serenity.

Instead now the job seemed to have literally kidnapped his husband, who certainly didn’t complain about the situation. Not that Boris had ever been less than perfect, when it came to his commitments, but lately the dedication that he put into them was close to maniacal.

The professor had the impression that things had changed after Boris' message on the radio, when he announced to anyone who was listening that they were married.

The memory still made him smile, but he wondered if, now that even Boris' colleagues and political opponents knew it, they were trying to put him in trouble, with particularly complex tasks that absorbed all his time.

It was useless to try to talk directly to Boris, he would have simply told Valery that everything was fine and no, there was no problem, even if it wasn't true, because he didn't want to worry him.

Valery had to ask someone else. He craned his neck toward the bedroom: the light was off and if Boris was as tired as he seemed, he was already fast asleep. He had left his phone recharging on the shelf near the main door and Valery quickly entered the unlock code (the day and month when they met), then searched Stepan's number in the contact list.

The next day he met with the lad at a diner not far from Boris' office.

The young man looked extremely anxious, and barely touched the coffee that Valery had ordered for him.

"Thank you for meeting me on a such short notice, Stepan."

"It’s alright, Professor Legasov. So, what is it?"

"I wanted to know if at work everything is like usual, or if there has been some hitch, some problems..."

"Deputy Minister Shcherbina is an exceptional leader. I did several internships, but I never found anyone like him, always willing to help us and to teach what..."

Valery raised a hand to stem that river of wild praises. "Don't worry, Stepan, this is not a test and I'm not here on my husband's behalf."

"Oh..." the boy calmed down considerably, "he is still a very good boss," he added anyway, just to be sure.

"Okay," Valery chuckled, "I’m happy to hear it. But I really want to know if everything is okay, or if recently you have perceived hostility around Boris. You know what I mean, don't you? He dedicated me a song on the radio, and I think a lot of people have listened to it."

"Yes, I heard it too, it was a very beautiful gesture. Did you like it, professor?"

"Of course, I loved it. However, maybe someone reacted in another way."

"I understand what you mean. No one said anything before the deputy minister..."

"Obviously."

"But you know how the world goes," the boy shrugged, "idiots are everywhere, and yes, there was someone who talked shit behind his back."

"Did they just talk, or did they try to boycott or give him an extra workload? Because you know, in this period he comes home very late.”

"No, nothing like that, but I believe that Deputy Minister Shcherbina has started a preventive defensive maneuver, if we want to call it so."

"What?"

"Now he wants to check every paper, every email, every notes that leaves the department: I think he’s watching his shoulders, so that nobody can criticize his work in any way."

Valery released a sigh of relief: he was glad that nobody was playing dirty with Boris.

"Maybe his is even an excessive precaution," the scientist added, and Stepan shrugged, unwilling to judge his boss' policy.

"We always put the utmost attention in everything we do, but if the deputy minister wants to review our job, it's his right, of course."

It was an excessive precaution, therefore, exactly as Valery thought.

"But the department won't implode, if Boris takes a short leave, right?"

"No, I don't think so," Stepan laughed.

"Very well, it was the confirmation I needed."

"But you know, Professor Legasov, I don't think the deputy minister will take a leave."

Valery smiled: no, not voluntarily, but hoped that a small incentive would convince his husband.

That evening, during dinner, Valery told Boris that he wanted to go back to his old apartment in Tula: the last time he noticed that it needed a deep cleaning and some repairs that could no longer be postponed.

"Do you mind if I leave for a few days?"

"No, of course not, go ahead. And then, lately I'm never home because of work."

In fact, Valery thought, that was the problem, but maybe he had the solution.

The first day passed quietly, Boris and Valery exchanged some messages, and the latter complained about how difficult it was to find a good craftsman to repair a blind.

On the second day, however, Valery didn’t answer to Boris' morning message, and a few hours later he put his plan in action.

Boris had just given a folder to his secretary, when he received a message from Valery: no text, only a photo of a leg in a cast.

**"WTF HAPPENED?"** He typed hastily.

**"Don't get upset, it's nothing serious."**

**"Valery, you have a leg in a cast! Where are you?"**

**"I just got out of the hospital, that's why I didn't answer you. This morning I wanted to change a light bulb, I climbed on a chair and... you can imagine what happened."**

**"I can't believe it, I left you alone for less than two days!"**

**"Well, I didn't fall on purpose!"**

**"Sorry. How are you?"**

**"It doesn't hurt, but I can't move well with crutches. Actually I'm afraid of falling and breaking my other leg too."**

Boris rubbed his face: his husband needed him, he had to go.

He called Stepan and explained the situation.

"I have to leave immediately, before my husband accidentally kills himself, but I will keep my phone on: call me whatever you need, and tell the others to do the same."

"I will, however we will work as we have always done. Don't worry and trust us."

Boris knew he had good assistants: since when he started to check their job, he had found nothing to complain about. Perhaps he had become a little paranoid in wanting to prevent any criticism to his department, and he had to take a deep breath and calm down.

Of course, it would have been easier to relax if his husband hadn't been a walking disaster.

"Valera, I'm here," Boris shouted, opening the door of his husband's old apartment, "Where are..."

The surprise prevented him from finishing the sentence: in a corner of the living room there was a Christmas tree decorated with beautiful glass ornaments, probably ancient ones, garlands and colored lights ran along the wall, in the air there was the smell of citrus, tea and spices, and in the center of the room was Valery, with his arms behind his back, a sheepish smile, and no leg in a cast.

Boris looked at him, waiting for an answer, but Valery just walked to him, put his arm around his neck and kissed him.

"Before you get angry, tell me if you like it."

Boris looked around again: "Yes, it's very nice."

"Forgive my little trickery, but I knew you would never escape from your workplace voluntarily: you needed a small incentive."

"Valera, I..."

Valery kissed him again, distracting him enough to take the phone from his pocket. He opened it and removed the battery.

"Your office will survive a couple of days without you."

Boris didn't protest and didn't ask for the phone back.

"I know, and I know I've neglected you these days. I'm afraid I got anxious for nothing."

"Well," Valery asked, hooking a finger into Boris' belt loop, "do you stay? Think about it: you and me alone, no phone calls, nothing to do, no place to go, load of time to do whatever we like."

"If you put it this way, I really can't refuse."

Valery pretended to be disappointed, as he unzipped his trousers: "Did I convince you so easily? Too bad, I had other strings to my bow."

"You can always show me," Boris murmured, gently pushing Valery to his knees, "I certainly don't want your intellectual efforts to be wasted."


	20. 20. Christmas present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel of Day 15 - Midnight

Boris brushed a strand of hair from his young lover's face, kissing his eyelids.

"Hmm, this has been one of the best," Valery muttered, licking his lips.

"It's always one of the best with you," Boris chuckled, kissing him on the neck.

Boris loved the post orgasmica haze, when he held Valery in his arms, without haste, at peace with the whole world...

"YOU FUCKER! YOU’VE BEEN OUT ALL NIGHT AND NOW YOU DARE TO SHOW YOUR UGLY FACE TO ME?"

"GO FUCK YOURSELF, OLD RAG!"

"I’LL KILL YOU! I’LL CUT THAT TINY DICK OF YOURS, ASSHOLE!"

A sudden explosion of screams, followed by noises of broken dishes, tossed chairs and slammed doors, made the beauty of the moment vanish.

"Who are they?" Boris sighed, "the neighbours next door?"

"Oh no, those ones divorced and left. These are the neighbours downstairs."

The fight continued, and the neighbors screamed so much that it seemed they were in Valery's apartment.

"Should I call the police?" Boris asked, definitely alarmed.

No, they would get angry with me. Eventually they'll stop, trust me, it's always like that." Valery took the wristwatch from the bedside table and narrowed his eyes, "Shower? In a couple of hours I have to be in the lab."

"If we shower together, you won't be in the lab in a couple of hours," Boris growled, leaving a red hickey on his neck.

"I'll take the risk," Valery laughed, tilting his head to escape the delicious torture. He got up, but Boris resumed tormenting him as soon as they were in the shower.

However the jet of water ran cold suddenly, forcing them to run out and cover themselves with towels so as not to freeze.

"The water heater must have broken," Valery muttered, "again."

"This apartment is terrible!" Boris complained, shaking his head.

"We have no alternative," Valery reminded him: Boris was often in Moscow on business, but he was still formally stationed in Kiev, so he didn’t have an apartment in the capital, but was staying in a hotel or at a friend's house. "And I can't afford anything different, with a researcher's salary."

Boris threw him a towel.

"But if you had a career advancement..."

Valery lowered the towel and looked him in the eyes, assertive: "Boris, we've already talked about it, and the answer is no: I don't want you pulling strings for me."

"Me telling your superior how good you are is not pulling strings."

"If I'm good, he must notice it by himself."

Valery accepted Boris' gifts, accepted to be spoiled by him, but he didn’t accept compromises on his moral principles.

Boris looked at him with an affectionate expression, but not the one reserved to a young man, his lover, but the one reserves to an adorable child.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Valery snapped defensively.

"I'm trying to remember if, at your age, I was as naive as you, but I don't think so. Now I'd better go," Boris said, dressing quickly, "or you will be late for real."

"Are you leaving tomorrow for Kiev?"

"Yes. I'll let you know when I get back to Moscow." He kissed him one last time and took the car keys from his jacket pocket.

"Do you think you could be here for Christmas holidays?" Valery asked.

"I really have no idea. Why?"

"No, nothing," the younger man shrugged, "Have a safe trip."

"Thank you. I’ll call you."

When Boris closed the door, Valery leaned against the wall, sighing. 

He and Boris had had a relationship for about a year, since he had passed out in Boris’ arms on last New Year’s Eve.

Valery didn't think Boris wanted a relationship, he believed they would go to bed a couple of times, and then everyone would go his own way, because they didn't have much in common, but for some reason the politician found him interesting.

A long-term relationship was much more than what Valery dared to hope for, but when Boris looked at him or treated him as if he were a kid, it bothered him, because he wasn't, he was twenty-five! Maybe he was naive, maybe he wasn't as cunning as the politician, but he didn't want to be treated like a child.

However, he wasn’t a relationship expert, the one with Boris was the first serious relationship in his life, and he wasn't sure how to behave. Like before: he actually wanted to tell Boris that he wanted to spend Christmas holidays together, because it would also be their first anniversary, but do adults in a relationship celebrate these things? Or maybe it would have made him look childish once again?

He loved Boris, he had the same crush on him as when he caught his eye in that crowded hall, but after a year he began to want something more than a few days together when Boris was in town.

However, Valey was also very afraid to discover that Boris didn’t want anything different from what they had now.

That's why he never said anything.

The notification sound of his phone interrupted his speculations. It was Ulana and she was quite angry.

**"Where the hell are you? We have a new experiment to start! Teleport here now!"**

Here, lost in his insecurities, he ended up being really late.

**"I'm sorry. I'll be right there."**

**"Less talk and more action, as surely your concubine would tell you."**

Valery sighed heavily: since Ulana had given them a little push during the last New Year's party to bring them together, and she was his only friend, she knew almost everything about them, even though her brazenness embarrassed Valery terribly.

Valery was out of breath when he arrived at the lab; he put on his coat and immediately set to work, but fortunately there was only Ulana there, and nobody noticed his delay.

"I see Boris is back in town," Ulana remarked with a huge grin.

"How can you tell?"

Ulana touched his neck under his right ear.

"He practically branded you."

"Oh, damn..." Valery looked at himself in the window reflection: could he cover it with a plaster?

"If after a year Boris is still so possessive, I would say that things are fine between you."

"Yes, that's right, we have a... hm... good understanding," Valery turned around and blushed, remembering how, the previous evening, Boris had taken him against the door, as soon as he set foot in his apartment. “But it’s useless to insist, I will not reveal any other details."

"Party pooper."

"Oh, cut it out!"

"However I’m happy for you. At first I didn't think it would last between you and Boris."

"Really?"

Ulana solemnly nodded: "Yes, I thought I should have picked up the pieces of your broken heart, and then followed an accelerated sniper course to kill Boris."

Valery laughed: Ulya was very protective of him, even if she showed it in strange ways.

"Why did you think it wouldn’t last?"

"Well, first of all I didn't think you were interested in committing yourself so seriously. I mean, you're young, you're cute, you could have enjoyed your freedom for several years."

Valery shook his head, as if to say  _ no, that's not for me _ .

"And then," Ulana continued, "the age difference between you two is quite big, I thought your relationship would end naturally."

Valery sat on the edge of a table and pursed his lips. Apparently he wasn’t the only one to have doubts about them. Maybe he was really a naive boy, if he thought they could have something different from what they had.

"Earth to Valery, are you all right?" Ulana asked, waving his hand in front of his eyes.

"Yes, sure."

"Did Boris do something? Have you had a fight? Look, I'm still in time to follow that sniper course."

"No, no, he didn't do anything. Indeed, he’s wonderful: he messages or calls me every day when he is in Kiev, and when he’s here in Moscow he spends every spare moment with me."

"Don't tell me you're complaining because you have too much sex, because I remind you that I haven't had a boyfriend for three months, and this lab is full of sharp tools."

"No, and stop talking about sex, it embarrasses me!" Valery complained, covering his ears, "It's just me. Lately I have been asking myself questions: I never mentioned the topic with Boris, but the fact is that I would like something more than what we have, something more serious, a commitment. I don't say to make it official, but... almost, yes. I want something to tell ourselves that we’re on the same page, or at least we are going in the same direction. But I'm a coward, I don't have the courage to ask him, and you know why? Because I’m terrified of discovering that he doesn’t want it.

But at the same time I wonder how much we could go on like this, like we’re doing now. Who knows, if our relationship doesn’t progress, maybe in the end the stalemate will drive us apart."

It was the first time that Valery admitted his fears aloud, and even if it didn’t change the way he felt, talking about them with Ulana took a weight off his heart.

"Oh dear," his friend sighed, sitting next to him, "you don't know half measures, Valery Alekseevič."

"You think so, don't you? If I told him, Boris would run away."

"Valerka, I was joking, I just wanted to play it down because I saw you so tense. I think you're worrying too much."

"Really?"

"Yes. Boris doesn’t strike me as the guy who carries on a long relationship that is only a pastime, I think he is taking it seriously too. I haven’t met him often and therefore I can’t be absolute sure, but he seems a decent guy."

"So you think I should talk to him about it?"

"If you don't want to be so explicit, let him understand."

"How?"

Ulana slipped off the table.

“Maybe with a very special Christmas present?”

"Yes, that’s a wonderful idea."

A few days later Boris called Valery, letting him know that he would be in Moscow for the holidays, and that he would have no work commitments at the time.

Valery gathered all his courage and asked him not to book the usual hotel room, but to stay with him in his apartment.

"I promise that the water heater will be fixed," Valery laughed.

"Well, okay then."

It was that conversation that made Valery understand what he could give Boris for Christmas, and how to deal with the topic of their relationship.

Valery wanted to talk to him right away, but Boris was very impatient to show his lover how much he had missed him (and yes, the water heater had been fixed, but soon the table would need repairs too, if they continued to use it for such vigorous activities), so Valery had to wait.

When they were ready to go to sleep, Valery handed him a small package, sitting cross-legged on the bed, quite nervous.

Boris opened it and a copy of Valery's apartment keys slipped into his hand.

"I know this place sucks, it's cold, and the neighbors are terrible, but I noticed that you come here anyway, even if you don't like it, and maybe this means something... and then I thought that after a year of dating you should have the keys to my house… so this is my Christmas present, the keys. Well, not only that..." Valery lowered his eyes and sighed: shit, that speech was much better in his head.

Boris kissed him on the cheek, then stood up. He seemed moved, but also strangely amused.

"I too have a gift for you: I wanted to give it to you in a few days, but I would say that this is the right time.”

Also that of Boris was a very small package, and inside there was a key.

Valery raised two incredulous eyes on him, and Boris nodded: "Yes, it's the key to my Kiev apartment. I'll sell it when I move here to Moscow, but in the meantime..."

"You never invited me to your house in Kiev," Valery whispered.

"After a year, it's time to do it."

"Are you saying we had the same idea?"

"It would seem so."

"This is..." Valery was speechless.

"Yes, it is," Boris confirmed, and kissed him again.


	21. 21. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate universe - A sort of coda for "Take me home"

There aren't many people who love the Russian winter: it’s cold, of that bitter kind of cold that goes deep in your bones, it’s dark, humid, often foggy, and when it snows, there are lot of inconveniences for everyone.  
But that's not the main reason why winter is hated.  
For many people winter represents death, the life that surrenders to the frost, the melancholy of barren and sterile fields and trees without leaves.  
Not for Valery Legasov.  
Valery likes winter, it’s his favourite season.

He has never associated it with death, but with the waiting for something new.  
Any change in his life has always happened in the winter: when his first girlfriend broke with him, telling him that they would never be on the same page, even if Valery couldn't see it (Valery realized it only several years later), when an independent editor published his first book of poems, when he won the Griffin prize for his poignant and melancholy verses.

But no matter how many prestigious goals he has achieved in life, when winter arrives Valery is waiting for something that has not yet happened, something that is missed in his life. Despite his poetic eloquence, he can't say exactly what or who it is, it’s an indefinite sensation that envelops his soul.  
 _“I'm here, I'm waiting for you. Where are you?"_  
That feeling has intensified since he moved to live near Lake Senezhskoye.  
This place is magical, especially in winter: the surface of the lake and the shore are often surrounded by a thick fog, which makes the landscape almost unreal, like that of a dream, where people, trees and animals become indistinct figures.  
Valery comes to the lake every day, sits on a bench, throws seeds to the ducks, takes notes for a new poetry book, and waits, hoping to find an answer to his vague, restless feeling.  
He’s certain that it will happen here, and only here.

Boris Shcherbina has spent almost his life building railways.  
His mother thought that his passion for railways was genetic, since his father was a railway worker, but for Boris it has always been something deeper, more meaningful.  
A railway connects distant places, goes through wild territories, allows people to meet, to travel, to explore the unknown.  
His colleagues call him jokingly the wizard of the impossible, because no matter what obstacle nature puts in front of him, be it a high mountain or a deep valley, when Boris builds a new railway line, he will always find a way to overcome it.  
Boris doesn't just build the railways, he tests them, and travels often, to check that they are in good condition for the comfort of travelers, but also to study the routes and open new lines. If he were to sit at a table and do a calculation, without too much surprise he would notice that he spent many more hours on trains than at home.  
There is a reason for this, a reason that Boris has never confessed to anyone, and it has nothing to do with the medals and the awards he got for his commendable work. 

For all his life Boris has felt that he is looking for something or someone, but despite his travelling, sat in a corner of the wagon, looking at the faces of the other passengers, he feels he hasn't found it yet.  
 _“I'm here, I'm looking for you. Where are you?"_  
Lately, however, he has gone too far, he has managed too many projects, slept too little, and ended up getting sick, so the doctors sent him on a forced holiday on Lake Senezhskoye.  
At first, Boris believed he would go mad: he’s not made to be still, to stay in one place for a long time, he’s made to move, travel, continue to ~~explore~~ seek, but there is something magical in that place, something that soothes his agitation. For some reason he can’t explain, it’s as if he had come to the place he has been looking for all his life.  
As he tries to find his way in the park where a thick fog has fallen, a diametrically opposite image flashes in his mind: a warm island, with high cliffs overlooking the blue sea, and the sun that burns his skin. In that place someone (him?) was sent to rest, as has happened to him now.  
Boris frowns: he built his railways in the Soviet Union, he was never in a place like the one that appeared in his mind. That strange vision, combined with the mysterious atmosphere of the lake, should frighten him, but it doesn’t. On the contrary, Boris' heart beats faster: it’s as if he were about to have a revelation.

_"Is this the place where I will find you?"_

Valery is sitting on the bench, like every day. He fed the sparrows and the ducks, and then opened his poetry notebook. He doesn't know why, but today he is writing a particularly mournful one, about a man who received a death sentence, who has only five years to live, but has also found something unexpected: love, that has helped him to survive until the end.  
What a tragic story! Perhaps it would be more suitable to a long epic poem than to his usual sonnets.  
The thought of a man (him?) with such a heartbreaking destiny should make him feel incredibly sad, and in part it is so, but at the same time Valery knows that there are other destinies (for him?), which have been happier.  
  
There is a man sitting on a bench on the lake shore. At the beginning he’s only a vague and gray shape, like a ghost, but he becomes more solid as Boris approaches.  
He is a middle-aged man, with thick glasses and strawberry hair, who is writing on a notebook.  
Boris has another, sudden flashback: a bench again, in a dead city, but he was the one sitting, while the other man walked to meet him.  
 _"Is it you?"_ _  
_He doesn’t know what those visions mean, or why he’s having them now, but he decides not to flee.  
The answer to his long search is probably here.  
He comes closer.

The seated man hears his footsteps on the gravel of the driveway and looks up from his notebook.

A man is walking towards him: he wears a long dark coat, has gray hair, but his gait is as confident as that of a man in his prime.  
Many people are confused by the fog, especially when it’s thick; their step becomes uncertain, their gaze lost, but not this man. This man gives the impression of being able to cross the whole world without a map. Maybe he did, to get here, to him.  
 _"Is it you?"_ _  
_Valery has another vision, or perhaps a fantasy: a kiss, a kiss with this man, a long and passionate kiss in a small apartment in Moscow. A bold and shameless kiss, a kiss that society judges forbidden, but that's the most right thing in the world for the two of them.  
  
They stand still and hold their breath, like two figures painted on canvas, forever frozen in an eternal instant, then the pen falls from Valery's numb fingers, and Boris bends to pick it up.  
"Can I sit down?" He asks, offering it to him.  
Valery nods and reaches for the pen.  
Their fingers touch.  
This too has already happened, but not with a pen, with a sketchbook.  
Valery is increasingly confused, but he isn’t afraid, he feels he is on the verge of a revelation that could change his life.

"What's your name?" Boris asks point blank. Usually he is more polite and doesn’t talk with strangers, but this man is not a stranger, inside himself he knows it.  
 _"Who are you? Are you the one I was looking for?"_ _  
_"My name is Valery."  
"I'm Boris. Forgive my insolence, Valery, but haven't we already met somewhere?"  
Valery has already heard that deep and hoarse voice, he is sure, he has heard it calling his name in a thousand ways: with anger, affection, sadness, exasperation, but above all love, boundless love.  
 _"Who are you? Are you the one I've been waiting for?"_ _  
_"I'm a poet, maybe you saw a photo of me somewhere."  
“No, I have the feeling that we know each other very well, for a long time, perhaps for more than a lifetime. Sorry, I must seem a weirdo to you."  
“No, not at all,” Valery reassures him, smiling, “It's the same for me, too. You are like a dear old friend to me, even if I can't explain why."  
Boris has already seen that timid and precious smile, has already been lost in those eyes as blue as the sea, has touched that freckled face with his fingers and lips.  
 _"If it hasn't been in this life, then it was in another. But it's you, it's you, now I know."_ _  
_Valery puts his hand on Boris', terrified and elated at the same time: his mind is bombarded with different memories, now heartbreaking _(metal taste on the palate, silent tears and hugs in an endless night)_ , now very sweet _(strong arms around him as he watches the sunset, lazy mornings with his head resting on Boris chest)_ .  
Boris intertwines their fingers and doesn’t oppose the river of memories that crosses his mind, memories of many different lives, some so sad that they make him want to curse God _(a rope around a ceiling beam, a flower on a grave)_ , others simple but happy _(an old attic with a large stove, two gold rings)_ .  
"I'm going to do something very strange now, forgive me," Valery says, raising his hands to Boris' face. They are shaking, but they are warm.  
And then Valery's lips are on his, shy and awkward, hesitant and full of questions, but it's not like kissing a stranger just met in the winter mist, it's like finding something that has always belonged to him, his soul mate, and there is no shyness in Boris' reaction, in his tongue that makes its way into Valery's mouth, in his arms that hold him tight.  
As he has done in many other lives.  
As it should be.  
The clearest and most intense memory appears in their minds: a full moon night, its reflection on the ocean, the two of them lost in a sweet hug, a kiss that tastes of love and salt, and a promise.

_"Stay where you are and I'll find you. Just… wait for me."_

_"I'll do it. I'll wait for you all my life, if necessary."_

"It's you, isn't it?" Valery whispers, stroking his face, "I don't know why, I don't understand, but all my life I've waited for someone, and it was you... Borja."  
“I don't understand either, I can't explain it, I don't know the meaning of all this, I only know that I have searched for you far and wide, and finally I have found you, Valera. It's you, I have no doubt."  
Valery knew that sooner or later the winter would bring him the answer and his long wait would be rewarded.  
They will have time to talk about the fragments of those strange dreams and memories, to rediscover the pleasure of their naked bodies intertwined on a bed, to weave their lives together again, forever, but for now they stay here, sitting on a bench, their noses brushing while they whisper ceaselessly "it's you, it's you, it's you," wrapped and protected by the fog on a winter's day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legasov was writing poetry, and Shcherbina was really the son of a railway worker, so I thought, "What if they really followed those paths in a different universe?"
> 
> And don't ask me why the layout of this chapter is so strange, I have no idea, but I can't change it.


	22. 22. Miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel of Day 4 - Lights

Valery realizes it while he’s shaving: as his illness progresses, he finds it increasingly difficult to perform the simplest gestures, and his hands struggle to respond to brain commands, but not that morning.

He didn't even get up with a headache, to tell the truth, as it had happened for months.

Once he learned that he was going to die, Valery didn’t go the doctors on a regular basis anymore: what's the use? Nobody can do anything to help him.

Anyway, that strange improvement in his health pushes him to go back to the doctor, and the diagnosis he receives is surprising: no one is able to explain why, but the brain tumor is no longer growing, indeed it has reduced significantly, and if it continues to regress like this, it will completely disappear within a few months.

Once back home, Valery can’t even fully rejoice at the news.

Knowing that he was close to death, he has already planned his next steps and his own end: tapes, where he explains what had really happened in Chernobyl and who is to blame, then his suicide, which no one could ignore. It would be a sounding board for his posthumous words.

He wasn’t afraid of taking his own life: after all he would have died anyway soon, after a terrible suffering.

But the news the doctor gave him changes his perspective, of course it does: committing suicide after receiving the news that he’s healing means throwing that miracle away, and Valery doesn’t believe he can do it.

He can still record the tapes and give them to his colleagues, but he already knows that the KGB will be on him immediately and its agents will end his life, making him disappear.

Furthermore, since he is no longer dying, he can return to cultivating the hope that one day the surveillance around him will loosen, allowing him to see Boris again.

His gaze runs to the wax residue on the saucer. It’s what remains of the candle that burned on a dark night, letting Boris know that he hasn't forgotten him.

Getting the truth out to the world is important, but Boris is too.

Valery doesn't really know what to do.

"I want you to tell me exactly why the whole city experienced a blackout!" Boris thunders.

After that unfortunate event, the central committee created a commission of inquiry to understand the causes and obviously to prevent such a regrettable problem from happening again, and Boris is part of it.

"It's not very easy to explain, deputy minister," objects one of the technicians Boris is talking to.

"I learned how a nuclear reactor works, this won't be more complicated."

In the end it seems that the fault lies with obsolete relays and fuses which, in particular conditions, created a domino effect that left the whole city in the dark. They should all be replaced, but after Chernobyl the funds are scarce and the repair will have to wait.

Boris writes the report, the commission is closed, and he no longer thinks about it.

After all, he has other concerns at the moment: his declining health, like that of Valery, whom he hasn't seen for months. Their last contact happened during the blackout.

Both of them on the roof of their buildings with a candle.

Boris was so overwhelmed by the emotion that he stayed on the roof for hours. He didn’t think, if not the day after, that he could take advantage of the dark to go to Valery's house.

But then, what would they do? Boris is sure that if he saw him again, he would never be able to let him go. And even if he would be perfectly able to get out of the USSR without being noticed, and he would also know where to go, now that opportunity has faded.

A few days later he goes to the doctor for the usual checks. He would be tempted not to go there anymore, because those visits can’t change his diagnosis, but that day, while he listens to his lungs, his doctor seems perplexed.

"Can you breathe more deeply, Deputy Minister?"

Boris obeys, and the doctor seems increasingly bewildered.

"Is something wrong?" Boris asks, and of course he thinks the worst, he thinks that his illness is progressing faster than expected.

“Actually it would seem the opposite, I no longer hear noises in your lungs. Have you been coughing up blood lately?”

Now that the doctor has asked him that question, Boris realizes that he hasn't been spitting blood for a few days.

From that night on the roof, to be precise: he believed that staying outdoors all night would aggravate his condition, but the next day he was fine.

The doctor quickly writes something on the prescription pad, and sends him to have a lungs X-ray.

The results are surprising: some metastases in the lungs have disappeared and others are smaller than his last X-ray.

"You are healing, Deputy Minister Shcherbina."

"It’s not possible."

"I know, and yet that's what's happening."

"How?"

The doctor shakes his head: “I have no idea, I don't think science has an answer. I think you should just enjoy this... miracle." The man purses his lips, hesitates for a few moments, then lowers his voice to a whisper: "Yours is not the only miraculous healing I have seen recently."

He puts a finger on his lips, then gets up, takes a file from the filing cabinet, then hands it to Boris.

It's Valery's medical record: he's healing too.

This changes everything: both have been given a second chance and Boris has no intention of wasting it.

He thanks the doctor and leaves the hospital with a clear plan in mind. Now that death isn’t pending over them, he will make sure to spend the years he has with the only person who matters to him.

If he could, he would go to Valery right now, but he knows he must proceed with extreme caution: what he has in mind will not be easy.

A few days pass.

Valery is still wondering what to do: he’s sitting at the kitchen table with the cat on his knees, when the light goes out, not only in his apartment, but everywhere.

Apparently, despite the reassurance of the party, the power problem hasn’t been resolved.

His only thought is to go back to the roof and light the candle in the direction of Boris' house, but this time no flame is seen in the distance.

Maybe Boris is already sleeping, or he's still at work.

It was too good to happen again.

He stands there for a while, reluctant to abandon hope, when he hears the roof door open.

"Valera, I knew I would find you here."

"Boris!" Valery runs and hugs him, as he has wanted to do since the day of the trial, but then he lowers his head, "You shouldn't be here, it’s dangerous, they’re watching me."

"I know, but in this dark nobody can see us. The agent watching you doesn’t know I’m here."

"I missed you so much." Valery tries to kiss him, but Boris puts a finger on his lips: "I missed you too, and that's why I'm here. I can't stay away from you anymore."

"I know Boris, but the KGB..."

"It’s obvious that we can no longer stay here."

"You…"

“Yes, I'm asking you to desert with me. I know where to go and what to do, but do you feel like leaving everything behind, now?"

"What a silly question! I would face any danger to be with you."

Finally Boris kisses him, even if it lasts too little for Valery's tastes.

"Come on, we don't have much time, we have to leave the city before daybreak."

When Boris grabs his hand, Valery doesn't ask anything about his plan, nor where they’re going, he doesn't need it: he trusts Boris and feels completely safe.

A few minutes later the cat is closed in his cage and the two leave the building.

Boris has a small flashlight and uses it to guide Valery to the car he parked a little far from there, and then they leave.

Boris is very silent until they come out of Moscow, and only when he is sure that nobody is following them, he relaxes and begins to explain: he is healing, and when he learned that Valery's tumor is also in regression, he decided to take advantage of that miracle to stay with him forever.

A technician explained to him why there was a blackout in Moscow, so Boris was able to replicate the fault to make it happen again, and have the cover of the dark to come and pick him up.

"Where are we going?"

“In Finland: I know some old paths used during the war to cross the border. We will ask for asylum and you can tell the truth about the reactors."

"It's a long journey."

Boris takes Valery's hand, brings it to his lips and kisses it.

"We'll make it."

Boris is sure of this: that miracle can’t happen in vain, it would be too cruel if they were now discovered, captured and ended their life in prison.

"Yes, you're right." Even Valery, always pessimistic, this time shows a smile: he wants to believe that everything would be fine. He thinks they deserve that miracle.

They take turns driving, stopping just to refuel, and after fourteen hours of travel, they are close to the border.

By now in Moscow the KGB agents will have noticed their disappearance, but nobody knows where they’re going, and soon the darkness will fall again. The night has always been their friend, and Boris hopes that it will help them even now.

They leave the car in a field and Boris guides Valery through the birch forest, without ever letting go of his hand, and finally, a few hours later, they are safe across the border.

"We really did it!" Valery exclaims, crushing him in his embrace, and while Boris rests his lips on his forehead, he promises himself that he will stay with him until the end.

"You are my miracle, Valera."


	23. 23. Sentiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel of Day 21 - Winter

The wood crackles in the fireplace, a long trail of clothes is scattered between the main door and the bedroom, and Boris is stroking Valery's naked back, absent minded, while the fog has become so thick that it seems that the outside world has vanished.

Time and space no longer exist, there are only the two of them, lying on the bed, catching their breath, perhaps still a little embarrassed, but happy.

This was certainly the most irrational move of his whole life, Boris thinks, going to bed with a man he met less than an hour earlier on a park bench, even though now he is sure he has known Valery for all his life.

For many lives.

Often, during his long train journeys, he saw lovers, separated by long distances, hugging joyfully on the platform; now he is experiencing the same feeling of those people, finding again their half of the apple, and it’s beautiful.

"I hope you don't think I act like this with anyone," he says, breaking the silence with his gravelly voice. It’s the opposite in fact: during his life Boris has had few relationships, none important, and not only because his job kept him busy, but because he knew that none of the people he had met along the way was the right one.

_ They weren't Valery. _

Valery smiles and lifts his face to look at him: “No, I don't think that. Of course, I don't do it either.”

Valery's cheeks, still tinged with a faint blush, and his shy eyes, tell Boris that perhaps he never did.

"Was I too... er... impulsive?" Boris asks, worried that he got carried away by the passion and paid little attention to Valery and his inexperience, but the poet reassures him: "You haven’t been more impulsive than me, and I wanted it. Actually, I've been waiting for this moment all my life."

Boris relaxes again: "Do you want to talk about it?"

Valery lifts himself on one elbow.

"I have no term of comparison, but it was beautiful."

"It was," Boris agreed, licking his lips, "But I meant to talk about the things we’re remembering."

"Right now my head is quite a mess: I’m seeing lot of memories, but they belong to different lives and I don't think I can distinguish them."

"The same is happening to me. Are you scared?"

"No," Valery reassures him, kissing his chest, "now you're here, in my arms, how could I be scared?"

"It's a bit strange anyway."

"Undoubtedly. What do you think, are they part of our past lives?"

“I'm not sure, but in my opinion they belong to alternate universes. I’ve the vague feeling of having discussed this with someone, in one of these realities."

Valery's hand caresses Boris’ side: "You’ve been a politician, several times."

"Instead you’re a poet in this life, but in others you’ve been a scientist, correct?"

Valery closes his eyes, and focuses to remember: "Yes, a nuclear physicist, but," he shivers and hugs Boris more tightly, "those are terrible memories... so many deaths, all that suffering, our illness, the end..."

"There was a serious accident, if I'm not mistaken, and we were called to deal with the consequences."

Their memories are very fragmentary, like dreams, evanescent and close to fading, not always easy to decipher.

"Five years," Valery murmurs, resting his ear on Boris' chest to listen to the beating of his heart.

"What?"

"Today, while I was on the shore, before you arrived, I got the inspiration for a new poem: a man who had only five years left to live. Now I know: it was me, sick from that accident."

"You're right, they’re terrible memories."

"But in that hell I found the love of my life, of all my lives: you."

Boris gently caresses Valery's hair.

“And I understood that it was no longer life without you. I had to find you at all costs, and if it wasn't possible to do it in that life, then it would have been in another. Nobody can keep me away from you."

"My stubborn, impossible Ukrainian."

How many times has Valery called him that! Jokingly, while bickering, to encourage him, as an endorsement, and Boris learned to love every nuance of that phrase. Hearing it again fills his heart with joy.

Boris' thumb runs down his spine and Valery moans satisfied, arching his back.

"Your touch, your hands on me... I've always loved them, in every life."

"And I adore your freckles, I'm in love with them."

The sudden memory of a particularly bold exploration of his body appears inside Valery's mind, who blushes to the tip of his ears and hides his face on Boris' chest.

"Oh, it's true, you're obsessed with them."

"I'm afraid you'll have to get used to it again."

"I'll sacrifice myself," Valery jokes.

Boris strokes him again in silence, then notices something peculiar: "It isn’t always like this between us: we don't remember what happened in other realities."

"True, this life is an exception. Usually we live our lives, and at some point fate brings us together, then..."

Boris lifts his face and kisses him.

"Then something clicks."

Valery smiles: “Yes, every time. No matter who we are or where we are, we’re made to meet and be together.”

Boris rolls on him, and Valery welcomes his weight, that skin-on-skin contact so long awaited, sought, desired.

"Forever."

Valery surrounds Boris face with his hands, and gets lost in those eyes, so bright and beautiful.

"After all that suffering, we found our eternity, our paradise, and although we don't usually remember who we’ve been in other lives, it doesn’t matter, because our hearts know it."

"You really are a poet," Boris chuckles, nuzzling him with his nose, "you should always be like this, it suits you."

"Instead, in another reality we met when we were young, do you remember?" Valery asks, "You didn't let me leave the bedroom for two days."

“You were irresistible, and made me lose my mind. You’re still irresistible, to be honest,"

Valery laughs and covers his eyes with one arm: "Shut up, it's not true!"

"You’re always so insecure about your appearance, Valera, but you shouldn't: I find you beautiful," Boris gently moves his arm away and kisses his lips, "In fact, if you don't have better things to do," a kiss on the chin, "if you allow me," a hickey on the neck, "and if your fridge is full of supplies," a tiny bite on the collarbone, "I'm ready to repeat myself and keep you on this bed for the next few days."

Valery's fingers are lost in Boris’ hair, gray but still thick.

The fog still envelops the building, as if it wanted to shield them from everything, no sound is heard, except the rustle of the sheets and the regular ticking of the old clock in the living room; certainly there is nothing better for Valery than being here with Boris.

"I'd like to, but have you nothing to do?"

"Just warning the hotel that I won't go back to sleep there tonight, nor the next ones. I only have to pack and bring my suitcase here."

"I haven't asked you yet: what brought you to Lake Senezhskoye?"

"A forced break, I worked too hard and was unwell."

"Boris!" Valery exclaims, alarmed, but Boris reassures him immediately: "Now I'm fine, and certainly in the future work will no longer be my priority."

“Then we can stay here. Do you like it?"

“Yes, it’s a special place. How did you get here?"

"I’ll tell you, and then you’ll tell me about your railways and the faraway places that I’ve never seen."

"We can visit some of them, if you like."

"Sure." Valery's eyes shine: he has never traveled much in his life, because he felt that his role, his part of the promise, was to remain still and wait, but now, with Boris, he would reach the end of the world, and would do anything.

Boris reads his mind, and smiles: "I think it will take a long time to do everything we want."

"We have it." Valery's hands cling to his broad, strong back, while Boris' lips kiss the freckles on his chest.

"So many different lives, so many ways to meet, yet one thing has remained and will always remain the same," Valery says softly, as if he were confiding an important secret.

Boris looks up at him: "What?"

"The sentiment."

"The sentiment," Boris echoes, "and these delicious freckles."

"Ah, it's you, it's really you," Valery laughs, his eyes full of affection for his newfound soul mate.


	24. 24. And to all a good night

Until a few decades ago, the concept of parallel universe was confined to the world of comics superheros or science fiction literature, while today many scientists hypothesize the existence of many, perhaps infinite universes, distinct and separate from ours, but coexisting with it.

Stephen Hawking also loved to tell that there are other ourselves, that live in other universes with a life similar, or perhaps completely different from ours.

Unfortunately, we will never be able to go to these universes which, like parallel lines, are destined never to cross, but we can always visit them with fantasy.

And then nothing prevents us from imagining a truly fairer world, where many innocent people haven’t lost their lives because of the neglect of a few.

And so here they are, Leonid and Sasha fishing on a stream. Today they haven't caught any fish yet, to tell the truth, they’re more busy chatting and joking while sitting on a boulder, sipping the hot tea from the thermos.

Lyudmilla and Vasily hold their baby's hand, as she moves uncertain steps towards the square, where Mikhail and Oksana are waiting for them with their children. The older one is bouncing on the spot, like a spring loaded toy.

"Someone is impatient to go to the playground, huh?" The fireman laughs, ruffling his hair.

Lyudmilla is already thinking that she would like it if her next child was a boy.

Dmitri is in the laboratory, intent on completing an experiment.

He doesn’t notice Ulana until she touches his shoulder and places a plate covered with a napkin next to him.

"You really work too hard."

"It really amazes me, hearing that from you."

"After all, it's Saturday."

"What did you bring me?"

"Homemade cake."

"Then I'll take a break," says the boy, lifting the napkin.

"Go ahead, I'll continue the experiment here."

Somewhere in Armenia, Garo is on a leave, rare event for him, and he returned to his parents' home.

He didn’t warn them, because he wanted it to be a surprise, and when he knocks on the door, his mother opens it wearing the old flowered apron, the same that she has been using for many years. Her hands are dirty with flour when she raises them to caress his face, with tears in her eyes.

His father doesn’t show to be moved, has a certain image to save, but runs to uncork a bottle of pomegranate wine.

Nothing changed here, and Garo feels at home.

In a small, chaotic apartment in Moscow, Valery is doing his best to prepare the pelmeni.

A sweet neighbour helped him with the dough, because his was a disaster, but he personally cooked the filling and is very satisfied with the taste.

He is excited as a child, because today Boris returns to town after a long business trip.

They only exchanged a short phone call a few days before, and he misses Boris terribly, so he wants to make him find a perfect welcome dinner.

Finally here is the bell that rings, and Valery rushes to open the door, while Boris passes an arm around his waist and kisses him first thing.

"I missed you."

"Me too," Valery murmurs, burying her face in his coat, wet with rain.

"What a good smell, what is it?"

"Pelmeni."

"You made them yourself?"

"Almost completely."

Boris kisses him soundly on the forehead, "Thanks, my love."

And then there are many other small stories of happiness and little joys, in these universes that we can’t visit, but when darkness falls, we can imagine that everyone clings to his beloved one, and to all a good night.


End file.
